


What the Body Betrays

by shenanygans



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes - fandom, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo
Genre: Angst, Crossover, F/M, Fem!Sherlock, Femlock, Forced Pregnancy, Genderswap, Imprisonment, Jim being a sick bastard, Johnlock - Freeform, Kidnapping, Moriarty - Freeform, Pregnancy, Psychological Torture, Rule 63, Smut, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - Freeform, sebastian moran - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 34,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenanygans/pseuds/shenanygans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been acting stranger than usual. She's been throwing up at crime scenes and leaving the flat at strange hours, not telling John where she's been going or why. John's worried and begins to wonder if their friendship will survive whatever Sherlock is hiding from him. And Sherlock knows that she won't be able to hide her secret for very long.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As soon as Sherlock walked onto the crime scene, she could smell it. That horribly, musky scent of cologne that Anderson believes would actually make him more attractive to his female coworkers. The smell made Sherlock’s stomach churn. It got to the point where she couldn’t even concentrate on the body before her, which by the way, the smell of decomposing flesh was by far better than what Anderson dabbed on his skin. Cursing the bloody idiot, Sherlock ran off from the crime scene and barely made it to the alley before her sick spewed behind a pair of bins. 

John followed after Sherlock, ignoring the snickering and looks from the officers as they watched their favorite consulting detective embarrass herself in front of the Yard.   
“Are you alright, Sherlock?” he asked, handing her a handkerchief. This wasn’t normal for her, he thought. She never was sick at a crime scene. The woman could look upon a pile of rotting corpses and not even cringe at the sight of it. Even their flat had the slight scent of a morgue, which John has been doing everything in his power to get rid of it. But no air freshener or potpourri was strong enough.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock wiped the bile from her mouth, “Damn, Anderson and his cologne! He smelled like a wet dog that fell in a vat of acid!” 

“We should get you looked at, just in case you’re coming down with something. Flu season is coming, or it could just be a normal bug—“Sherlock stopped him.  
“It’s nothing.” But her mind was warning her otherwise. Something was right with her. Things haven’t been right since....

John caught the slight change in her expression. She had just figured it out and it wasn’t good. 

“What is it? You can tell me, Sherlock.” John frowned when she didn’t respond. Sherlock was lost in her thoughts. “I am a doctor after all…..Let me help you.”

Sherlock shook her head. “As I’ve said, it’s nothing. Come on, I already solved the damn case.” Straightening her coat, Sherlock returned to the crime scene and rattled off her deductions like nothing had happened. She ignored Lestrade’s concern for her wellbeing and hailed a cab to take her back to Baker Street. 

But something was wrong. Very wrong. Sherlock needed to be sure of it first before she took any action. A single thought filled her mind. 

No one can know….

 

Sherlock didn’t stay at the flat long after they returned from the scene. John saw her go directly into her bedroom as he went to put on tea for the both of them. Before the kettle even boiled she was out of her room with a bag slung over her shoulder.

“I’m going shopping. I’ll see you later.” and Sherlock was out the door. 

By now John knew that Sherlock rarely did any shopping. He took on the role of stocking the flat with food and anything else that Sherlock needed: clothes, lab equipment, chemicals, she had delivered. The only thing she ever needed to go out for were the body parts Molly provided her. 

Sherlock was hiding something. Actually, she had been hiding something for the last month and a half. And now, her body was betraying her.

Sherlock walked down to the Tube and locked herself in a maintenance closet and changed into one of her disguises; a blond wig, short brown coat, and a pair of skinny jeans. Hiding the bag with her usual ensemble, Sherlock walked back out and took the Tube to the other side of London. 

She paid cash for each test at a Tesco’s and the bought a bagful of vitamin supplements. John would just think that she bought the vitamins for an experiment. He didn’t need to know what her true purchase was. Sherlock took the Tube back to Baker Street and returned to the closet to change back into her normal clothing, stashing the tests in with the disguise while carrying the bag of vitamins under her other arm. 

John was catching up on his medical journals when Sherlock finally returned to the flat.

“Did you remember the milk?” His answer came when Sherlock dumped a bag of vitamins on the kitchen table before she retreated back into her bedroom. “I guess not.” 

John studied the various bottles and frowned. Is this really for an experiment? Sherlock’s eating habits were a dangerous combination of starving herself during a case and then binge eating when things were quiet. He had been trying to get Sherlock to take vitamins for months, but the stubborn woman wouldn’t listen to his concerns for her health. And now she had bottles of calcium, iron, folic acid, and other supplements on the kitchen table. What the hell was going on? 

And yet, John was beginning to put the pieces together. He was beginning to worry about their friendship. Did he really think things would remain the same between them?  
Sherlock stripped and wrapped herself in her blue dressing gown. She bundled the tests in her towel and headed for the bathroom. In the hallway, she saw John going through her shopping bag. Even if he wasn’t a genius, he was beginning to put two and two together. And yet, he would only understand half of it. Sherlock didn’t think she could tell him the rest. 

Sherlock ran the shower, giving her a reason for taking up so much time in the bathroom. While the water ran, she pulled out each test and used them. She lined them up on the sink and then quickly stepped into the shower to wash herself up while she waited for the results. By the time she had washed and dried her body, Sherlock had her results.

Positive. Every single test proved positive.

Sherlock Holmes was pregnant.


	2. Chapter 2

The happy news was celebrated by Sherlock retching into the toilet. John heard the sounds coming from the bathroom and knocked on the door.

“Sherlock, are you okay? Can I come in?”

“No!” Sherlock took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Okay, she was pregnant. There was only one thing to do. “I’m fine, John!”

He wasn’t having any of this. John opened the door to find Sherlock naked and kneeling by the toilet. “Sherlock….” Then he saw the neat row of pregnancy tests lined up on the sink. John wasn’t sure of his emotions, but soon his doctor skills kicked in and made him get to work. He kneeled down and pulled Sherlock’s hair back and wiped the bile from her mouth. He ignored her pale face and wide eyes, searching for his reaction. He knew she was trying to figure out what he was thinking; he was doing the same thing himself.

“Let’s get you dressed and sitting down. I’ll make us some tea.” John’s voice was soft and reassuring as he wrapped Sherlock up in her dressing gown and guided her to the sofa. Then he put the kettle on. 

So this was what Sherlock was hiding. It explained both the nausea and her sensitivity to smells. She must be around five weeks, John thought. That’s when they both made love for the first time. 

After that, things went to shit.

They had been tracking down a jewel thief that resulted in a chase through the London streets and John nearly falling into the Thames; a normal Friday night for John and Sherlock. Both were high on adrenaline and breathing heavily when they returned to Baker Street at 2am in the morning. John remembered how flushed Sherlock’s cheeks were as she took off her coat. Perhaps he had been looking a bit too long than was necessary and she caught staring at her. Before he could mutter an apology, Sherlock had pulled him close and kissed him. That kiss lead to many more kisses and John woke up the next morning tangled in the sheets of Sherlock’s bed, laying next to his best friend. And he had been happy.

John wouldn’t say he had fallen in love with Sherlock at first site, but something about her certainly drew him to her. She was brilliant, mad, rude, and completely her own. The world became a more exciting place by her side. 

He wouldn’t say that he was attracted to her at first site either. John first thought he was meeting a young man based on the way that Sherlock had dressed. In fact, she dressed rather androgynously with her suits and large grey coat. But over time John couldn’t help but be caught her in eyes and dark mass of curls on her head. She was a strange beauty and a stranger woman.

The morning after they made love, John realized he had fallen for Sherlock.

Sherlock had still been asleep when John had to go do his hours at the clinic. He kissed her on the top of the head and didn’t return until 8pm. Sherlock wasn’t home.   
John knew Sherlock’s schedule by then. When not on a case, Sherlock worked on experiments, either at the flat or the morgue. John didn’t get any word of Sherlock getting a new case and the morgue closed by 9pm. She didn’t answer any of his texts and by midnight John was beginning to worry. 

At 2am, Sherlock finally returned home and went straight to her bedroom. John could barely get a word to her before the door was slammed in his face. He wanted to talk to her, but he knew her better than that. Right now, she wouldn’t let anyone near her. 

The morning after that, John awoke to the sound of the shower running downstairs. Sherlock was awake and maybe he had a chance to talk to her. To ask her where she had been all of yesterday and why she hadn’t answered his texts. He felt like some love struck teenager, but even for Sherlock, this wasn’t normal behavior. 

When he went downstairs, John found Sherlock making toast in the kitchen. 

“Hey,” John started, wrapping an arm around Sherlock’s waist.

And that’s when she pushed him away. Sherlock stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide and wild before storming off back into her bedroom. She slammed the door and that was the last John saw of her that day.

A thought in the back of his head was telling John it was his fault, that he had crossed a line. He began wondering if he should have just pushed her away when she kissed him. Maybe when Sherlock woke up, she realized their mistake and was now trying to distance herself from John. He was crushed.

Three days later and they had another case. Sherlock finally spoke to him, asking if he was coming along or not. She didn’t even look at him and kept her distance. John nearly said no, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t right with her. Even if she didn’t want him as a lover, Sherlock might still want him as a friend and this was her way of fixing things. John went with her to the crime scene.

Now, a month and a half later and Sherlock was pregnant because of him. John hated himself for not thinking about the possibility sooner. Sherlock’s strange behavior had shaken him, made him forget that they hadn’t used protection. He had gotten her pregnant and she probably hated him for it. 

“Here,” John offered Sherlock a mug of tea before settling in his armchair across from her. He let both of them get a few sips in to calm their nerves before starting up the most awkward conversation in John’s life. “That night when we had….It was irresponsible of me not to have used protection.” He had condoms upstairs. He could have gone up to get them.

Sherlock didn’t even look up at him. She stared down into her mug, her knees tucked up under her chin. 

John took a deep breath and continued, “Whatever you want to do with it, I will support you. I’m your friend and—“ And what else? Lover? Boyfriend? Partner? A bloody fling? “and I care about you.” He wasn’t going to lie. John did care about her and loved her. “But it’s your decision and I’ll stick behind it.”

There was still no answer from Sherlock. John looked at her and saw that she was far away into her own mind.

“Sherlock!” John said sharply, “I need you to talk to me! We can’t just ignore the fact that we had sex and that I got you pregnant!”

“It might not be yours.” Sherlock’s voice was barely above a whisper. She finally looked up at him and John saw it. Fear. 

“What? What do you mean? We had sex and—“ John paled. Was that why Sherlock was so upset? Did she have another lover that John didn’t know about? The woman rarely socialized with anyone! John was positive he could name all the people Sherlock spent her time with on his right hand.

“Who else?” John couldn’t stop his voice from cracking. It just didn’t seem possible…

Sherlock was silent again. When she spoke, her voice was a bit steadier, but quiet. She said one word, one name.

“Moriarty.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for rape and Jim being an evil bastard.

Sherlock could feel John’s lips upon her forehead before he left for the clinic. A half hour later, Sherlock finally rolled out of bed and stretched a happy ache between her legs. She wondered why she hadn’t done that sooner. John was a fantastic shag and well….a good man. He never demanded too much from her and just seemed to accept her for who and what she was. Sherlock couldn’t dream of a better companion. 

Breakfast included a single slice of toast and two cups of coffee. The post-case high was still running through Sherlock’s body (that and the wonderful secretion of chemicals that come from a good orgasm) and the day looked exceedingly pleasant. Perhaps Molly had some new corpses that Sherlock could examine? Sherlock put on her clothes and a lazy smile and headed for the morgue.

Honestly, it was one night of hot sweaty sex and Sherlock was acting like a lovesick puppy! John would probably want to talk about this new development in their ‘relationship’. Sherlock wasn’t looking forward to that. What did it matter? She wanted him and he for nearly a year had shown sexual attraction towards her, though never acted upon it. They enjoyed each other’s company, so why not occasionally have sex now and again? Sherlock didn’t even mind if John continued to date other women to make up for the qualities that she well…lacked. As long as said women knew their place. 

So engrossed in such thoughts as Sherlock walked down the street, she hardly noticed the black car following her. It was nearly upon her when she finally saw it in the corner of her eye.

Mycroft, Sherlock thought. He probably wanted to congratulate her or some other form of passive aggressive annoyance. That, and take advantage of her good mood and have her solve some form of international crisis. As long as it only took a few minutes, Sherlock didn’t mind. She stopped and let the car drive up next to her.

That was her mistake. The doors of the car opened and there was no Mycroft, only four extremely large men that pounced on Sherlock before she could back away. She got a few good punches in, but she was outnumbered. There was no escape. The men put a bag over her head and bound her wrists together tightly. They tossed her into the boot of the car and drove off. 

Less than an hour later, Sherlock found herself naked and tied to a bed in a rather luxuriant flat. The men had quickly stripped her and left her there to wait. There was only one person Sherlock knew who was sick enough to do such a thing.

“Hello, my dear,” Jim entered the room, a wicked smile on his face, “It’s so good to see you again. I hope my boys weren’t too rough with you, but unfortunately, I don’t think you would have come see me any other way.” 

He sat at the edge of the bed and ran a hair through her hair. “I’m rather disappointed in you, Sherlock,” he murmured, “I thought you had better tastes than Johnny boy.” His hand trailed down to her neck where John had marked her with his teeth and lips. 

So this was what it was about, Sherlock sleeping with John? Was this Jim’s form of humiliation for ‘lowering herself’ and having sex with an ordinary man? Well, John certainly wasn’t ordinary to Sherlock.

“Who I take to my bed is none of your concern.”

“Oh yes it is.” Jim’s dark eyes bored into hers as he began taking off his clothes. “I was really hoping I would get to you first. I didn’t expect you to make the first move.”

No. This couldn’t be what Jim was planning. Sherlock pulled at her restraints, trying to break free. The ropes only tightened on her wrists as she struggled. She could hear Jim laughing softly as the last layers of his clothing fell to the floor and he climbed on top of her. Sherlock kicked at him with her legs, but he only grabbed them and spread them apart. Jim looked her in the eyes as he forced his way inside her, a devilish grin on his face. 

It hurt. Sherlock couldn’t stop herself from gasping in pain as Jim began to thrust inside her. She bit her lip until she could taste her own blood in her mouth. She wouldn’t make a sound. She wouldn’t give Jim that satisfaction. 

“Now, love, let me hear that pretty voice of yours.” Jim leaned down to bite her hard on the neck, right over the mark John had given her. Sherlock cried out and Jim moaned at the sound, thrusting harder into her. 

It would end. It would end and Sherlock would survive this. She had to. 

Jim groaned loudly and snapped his hips a few more times before releasing himself inside her. His hands roamed all over Sherlock’s body as he came down from his orgasm.

“That was wonderful, darling. Thank you.” He kissed her almost tenderly only the lips, licking up the blood. He pulled out and stared down at her, reveling in the absolute contempt she had in her expression. And he wasn’t even done yet.

“Did Johnny boy make you come?” Jim asked, pinching one of Sherlock’s nipples absently. “You can tell me, I won’t mind. In fact, I think I’ve been a bit selfish in my pleasure….” His other hand traveled down her abdomen and between her legs, stroking her sex gently. 

“No!” Sherlock couldn’t stop herself. Not this. This was worst. She’d rather he just rape her and be done with it. 

Jim put a finger to her lips to shush her. “Really? Now you’re telling me to stop? You must get off on me being rough, you naughty girl.” 

He continued stroking her, taking his time. Eventually the stimulation would take over Sherlock. Her body was only doing what it was supposed to, but Jim knew it would still kill her inside. As rational as Sherlock tried to be, she was still pathetically human. The rape would take its toll on her like everybody else. 

Sherlock let out a strangled noise, somewhere between pain and pleasure. Her body trembled as she came, her eyes welling up in tears. She didn’t cry though. At least she didn’t do that. It wasn’t even that pleasurable.

Jim looked her in the eyes as he licked his fingers, tasting her. “Delicious. And just watching you got me hard again. Are you ready for round two?”

Sherlock wished she could forget how many times Jim raped her that day, but her mind wouldn’t allow her to erase it. It wouldn’t leave her no matter how hard she tried. By midnight, Jim left and his men entered to untie and dress her once again. They left her in the flat, free to leave whenever she wished. 

As she walked back to Baker Street in the dark, Sherlock went through every text John had sent, asking her where she’d been. John could never know. No one could. Jim had wanted to humiliate her, break her. 

When she finally made it home, she went straight to her bedroom, stripped, and curled up in her bed to sleep. Morning came and she could smell Jim on her body, making her stomach churn. Sherlock scrubbed her body until it was raw in pink under the hot water in the shower. She wanted every trace of him off of her.

She felt numb most of all. An empty void in her body and mind, and Sherlock was grateful for that. She didn’t want to think of the disgusting ache between her legs.

And then John wrapped his arms around her waist and Sherlock panicked. She pushed him away, seeing the confusion and hurt on his face, but what could she say? That she had been raped by Jim? Sherlock couldn’t say that. She slammed the door to her bedroom and locked it, crawling back under the sheets and sleeping for nearly two days straight. 

After that, Sherlock tried to take control of her life once again. She took the first case Lestrade offered her, without even caring whether it was interesting or not. If things were going to be normal, she needed to have John by her side again. For a moment, she could have sworn he was going to refuse, but he came with her. But she knew that John was hurt by her actions. He might even hate her for it. 

The only thing Sherlock could do now was tell him the truth.


	4. Chapter 4

“Moriarty?” John breathed. No, this couldn’t be true. Sherlock was having an affair with Jim Moriarty, the man that nearly killed them both and threatened to burn Sherlock’s heart?

Then he saw it, the fear once again. John felt the wind knocked out of him. It just couldn’t be true.

“He….He forced you, didn’t he?” John couldn’t say the word rape. 

Jim Moriarty had raped Sherlock and John hadn’t even noticed! John’s hands balled into fists. He had failed her. He had failed to protect her from that mad man. 

“It would have happened anyways, he was just…disappointed that you got to me first.” Sherlock closed her eyes. The memories assaulted her once again. She just wanted to forget. She just wanted to move on with her life and take Jim Moriarty down!

John stood up and began pacing. He needed something to punch. He wanted it to be the face of the Consulting Criminal! “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him for what he did to you.” 

“John. Stop it.” Sherlock looked up at him, her voice firm. “You’d never get close enough. He’d kill you.” 

He stopped and returned to sit by Sherlock’s side.

“I’m so sorry, Sherlock.”

“It’s not your fault.” She said.

“I didn’t protect you.”

“You couldn’t have protected me.”

John did the only thing he could do at that moment. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled her in to a hug. But as soon as he did so, he knew it was a mistake. Sherlock’s body tensed in his arms at the touch. She wasn’t ready to be touched.

“I’m sorry—“John tried to pull back but Sherlock grabbed his arms.

“Don’t…” Sherlock forced herself to calm down. Her reaction was completely irrational. This was John! Good John, kind John, the man that she could always rely on. Sherlock wasn’t about to have Jim’s attack on her take that away from her. 

John held Sherlock for a long time, not uttering a single word. Finally, Sherlock spoke up.

“I can’t keep it. There’s no way I could…..even if it was yours.” It was just a reminder of what had happened to her. And if Jim were ever to learn of her pregnancy….Sherlock didn’t want to think about it. “I’ll see you at the clinic tomorrow. They perform abortions there, do they not? Set me up with someone you trust, but don’t give out my name. No one can know what I’m doing.”

John wasn’t actually supposed to go in tomorrow, but there was no way he was going to let Sherlock do this alone. “We can trust Sarah. I’ll call her in the morning and we can go togeth—“

“I’m going alone, in disguise. My actions have already drawn up enough attention. Going to the clinic with you would only make people ask questions.”

Sherlock was just being paranoid, John thought, but he didn’t argue. She needed to do this and he was going to support her every step of the way. “Alright.” 

Sherlock didn’t remember falling asleep in John’s arms, but awoke the next morning still wrapped up in them. John was snoring softly as she untangled herself from him and headed for the shower. She took her time, knowing what was to come.

John woke up to the sound of Sherlock in the shower once again. He got up and made the call to Sarah, warning her that the procedure must be done with complete secrecy. They weren’t even going to put it on the database. Once that was over, John made coffee and breakfast. 

Sherlock followed John into the kitchen when she was finally dressed and ready to go. She wore the same disguise she had worn when she went out to buy the pregnancy tests. She ignored the food and coffee, just wanting this to be over already.

“I’ll take a cab ahead of you. When I get there, I’ll text you and then you can follow.”

John nodded. “Be safe.” He hated this plan. He wanted to be by her side the entire time, not waiting around totally unable to help her! 

Sherlock started heading for the door, but stopped. She then turned around and pulled John into a kiss. It was gentle, but insistent. John kissed back, assuring her that everything would be alright. They would get through this together. He hoped that she could also tell how much he loved her through that kiss.

Finally, Sherlock pulled away and left without another word. She went downstairs and hailed a cab, telling the cabbie where to take her. The location was three blocks away from the clinic. She would walk the rest of the way. 

As soon as John saw Sherlock close the door, he sat down at the kitchen table, holding his head in his hands. There was no stopping the tears at this point. He hated himself for not being there for her, for not helping her sooner. This entire time, she had faced this alone. It made him sick.

Then there was the chance that it was his child in her womb. John was a better man than those who would protest Sherlock’s decision. It was her body and he understood, but for a moment, he let himself wonder what it would be like for him to be the father of Sherlock’s child. It would be so strange. Sherlock certainly wasn’t the mothering type. She could barely take care of herself. Yet John was sure that their child would have been beautiful and smart and possibly just as mad as both of its parents. John wiped his eyes and drank his coffee. He waited for Sherlock’s text.

Sherlock was in a similar state, but she refused to let herself cry. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the glass window as the cab pulled away. It had to go. There was no other option. If Jim learned of the life growing inside her, he could use it against her whether it was his or John’s. Sherlock sighed. John would have made a good father. He was a traditional man and she knew how much he dreamed of a family. But there was no way she could be a mother. She lived a dangerous life. To add a child into her life was too much of a risk. 

When Sherlock opened her eyes, she knew something was wrong. The cab was going the wrong way, away from the clinic and heading out of London. 

“Where are you taking me?” Sherlock asked, keeping her voice calm and steady. She would not show fear. The man driving the cab didn’t answer except for the slight sound of the locks clicking into place. Sherlock was being kidnapped and she knew by whom exactly.

Jim.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim is a total bastard. This was a tough chapter to write and still needs to be beta'd. Enjoy!

After forty-five minutes and still no text from Sherlock, John was beginning to worry. He called Sarah, asking if she had seen Sherlock come in yet and she said she hadn’t. Sherlock had a right to be paranoid, John realized. 

John called Mycroft.

The cab stopped in a parking lot right outside London where another car was waiting. It was the exact same car that took Sherlock to Jim a month and a half ago with the same men who dragged her inside. Once again she was bound and blindfolded and shoved down to the floor of the car while it took off again.

With her sight gone, Sherlock had to rely on her other senses to figure out where they were taking her. She could hear multiple engines and the heavy smell of smog. They were on the motorway. An hour later, the smell of hay and manure could be discerned. She was in the country. And eventually, even that was gone and replaced with the scent of raw earth—A dirt road.

The car stopped and Sherlock was pulled out of the vehicle. She identified several kinds of birds chirping in the distance and the scent of trees. Moriarty had set up a house surrounded by woods, several miles from any village and accessed by a dirt road off the motorway. Sherlock was carried inside and set down in the sitting room. She was grateful for not being tied up or naked. It wasn’t that kind of visit.

For all she knew, Jim had no idea that she was pregnant. How could he? And yet, he was able to know of Sherlock’s tryst with John and capture her within twelve hours. She had been so careful. Sherlock had checked for cameras, she made sure she wasn’t followed, and still he had her!

Fifteen minutes later and Jim Moriarty made his entrance, carrying a tray of tea.

“Hello, love, it’s so good to see you again,” he smiled, “I’ve missed you.” Jim set down the tray and prepared tea for both of them. 

“I wish I could say the same.” Sherlock didn’t touch her tea.

“Don’t be so rude, dear,” Jim tsked, “It’s not becoming of a woman your age. Besides we have much to discuss.” He looked pointedly down at her stomach.

Sherlock paled. So he did know…..

“There is nothing to discuss,” she kept her voice cool and collected, “I’ve already made my decision. I’m getting rid of it.”

“But you don’t even know whose it is? Mine or Johnny Boy’s…Then again, I had you so many times! How could it not be from my seed?” 

“It doesn’t matter.”

Jim laughed softly and took another sip of his tea. “It’s cute how you think you actually have a choice in this.” He put his cup down and leaned forward, staring deeply into her eyes. “You’re going to be staying her for quite awhile, Sherlock. I’ve made all the arrangements for you to stay here and give birth to our child. The doctors have been waiting for you for quite some time. Please, make yourself at home.” He gave her a chilling smile.

Sherlock couldn’t hide the look of horror on her face. This had been Jim’s plan from the beginning. He didn’t just rape her to torture and humiliate her; he needed her to become pregnant! He wanted to take her child.

“I don’t….I don’t understand.” Sherlock breathed. 

For a moment, Jim actually looked disappointed. He could tell she knew what he was going to do, but she didn’t understand why. “Think about it, Sherlock,” he said, “A little baby with our genes and a bit of grooming from yours truly, why it would be brilliant! The perfect little prince or princess to rule the world! And of course you’d hate it. How could you not knowing how it came to be? You’re so human, Sherlock, it almost makes me sick. It will eat away at you, knowing that I have your child and can use it against you.”

He leaned back in his chair and continued, “It won’t be hard for me to find some old couple to take care of it until it’s ready to be at my side and learn the family business. You see, psychopaths can be born, or they can be made and I’m sure our baby will be the perfect little monster. And who knows? Maybe in the end, your own child might even kill you!”

“I won’t let you,” Sherlock growled, “I’ll kill this child before I let you have it!”

“Once again, you’re under the impression like you have a choice. As I’ve told you, I’ve made all the arrangements.”

“You can keep me here but I won’t eat, I won’t sleep. I’ll but my body in such a state that it will barely even be able to support my life. Believe me, I’ve done it before.”

Jim didn’t seem bothered by her suicidal promise. “The female body is quite amazing you know. Women can go into comas and still be able to give birth to healthy babies. If you become too much of a threat to the life of the child, I can always put you under.”

He shrugged, “But of course, if you did manage to miscarry….why, we can always start again.” 

Sherlock couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see a way out of this. Jim was going to force her to give birth to this thing and then use it against her! And if she killed it, he’d only rape her again and repeat the entire process.

“Whether you like it or not Sherlock, you’re going to have my baby.”

In a split second, Sherlock was on Jim, hands wound tightly around his throat. He wheezed out a laugh and snapped his fingers, calling his men back into the room. Sherlock got in one good punch to Jim’s face before strong arms grabbed her and pulled her off of him. She punched and kicked wildly, not trying to escape per say, but to provoke the men into striking her. She wanted to cause as much damage to herself as possible so she would miscarry. However, Jim’s men were already ordered not to harm her more than necessary. They held her steady as a nurse came in and sedated Sherlock. Unable to fight any longer, she fell unconscious; the last thing she saw was Jim’s disgusting grin and maniacal laughter.

The men carried Sherlock downstairs to the basement of the house where Sherlock’s cell was prepared. Nurses changed Sherlock into a cotton shift and shackled her to a hospital bed. The cell was furnished with an entire array of medical devices to monitor Sherlock and the baby’s health. The nurses put an IV in Sherlock’s arm and left her to sleep off the sedatives. When she awoke, she became very aware of how trapped she truly was.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gets caught off guard with what should have been happy news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have to slow down on chapter updates since I'm having a friend beta them for me. Please comment and tell me what you think! Thanks for all of the support, guys! <3

“You have the entire British Government at your disposal, why haven’t you found her yet!?” John paced in front of Mycroft’s desk, his hands tightly balled into fists. Crescent shaped marks cut deep into his skin.

“I am doing all I can.” Mycroft said, “James Moriarty is a highly resourceful man. It won’t be easy tracking down where he has taken Sherlock.”

Mycroft’s cool demeanor was getting under John’s skin. How could this man not even show an ounce of worry for his own sister? 

“Well try harder!” John spat, pounding his fist onto Mycroft’s desk. Sherlock had to be found soon before Jim could hurt her again!

“John,” Mycroft’s voice had a dangerous edge. “She is my sister and I am doing everything in my power to bring her home /alive/. But it is going to take time. If Moriarty simply wanted her dead, she would be dead and it would have been a public event. We need to know what he wants from her before we start tearing through every corner of England looking for her.” And that’s when John saw it. Underneath Mycroft’s stony features was pure fear for his sister’s wellbeing. Defeated, he sank back down into the chair across from the Ice Man. 

“He’s going to hurt them,” John said weakly, “He’s going to hurt them and all I’m doing is waiting around like an idiot.”

“Them?” For once, John saw an expression on Mycroft’s face that he had never seen before: confusion. He realized the man hadn’t been brought up to date on Sherlock’s condition.

“She’s pregnant.”

Mycroft was utterly speechless. Finally he asked, “Yours, I presume?”

“We don’t know,” John swallowed, feeling his mouth gone dry, “The day after Sherlock and I….Moriarty raped her. Sherlock was going to the clinic to get an abortion when she was taken.”

Silence fell upon the office where the two men who loved Sherlock the most sat down across from each other. It was finally interrupted when Anthea entered carrying a file.

“CCTV cameras caught the license plate of the cab that took Sherlock. It was tracked down to a warehouse near the Thames. It was abandoned. A forensics team is already on the scene.” Anthea handed the file to Mycroft.

“Sherlock was probably transferred to another vehicle before taken to her real destination. My guess is that they’ve left the city.”

John paled. Sherlock could be anywhere by now. What if Moriarty had taken her out of the country? That bastard could have hidden her in some dirty corner of the world where not even Mycroft’s men could find her. The thought terrified John.

/I need to find her./

“Thank you, Anthea,” Mycroft said as he leafed through the file. Finally, he looked back up at John.

“Go home, John,” he said quietly, “I’ll keep you up to date with any new findings we get. There’s nothing you can do here. Go home and rest. You need it.”

Mycroft was right, John thought. He was completely useless in this situation. He was a soldier, but this was a whole different kind of warfare. The doctor was out of his league.   
John returned home and put the kettle on. It was automatic and calming. He didn’t have to think about what he was doing and he let his mind wander. The food he had left out for Sherlock was still on the counter, cold. He didn’t want to through it away hoping that perhaps they would find her tonight, safe and sound. But that was only a fool’s hope. John tossed the entire plate in the trash and took his mug to the sitting room.

And there John waited.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a deal.

The first week was the hardest. Sherlock’s shackles only had enough pull to move from her back to her side, though it left on arm sticking out awkwardly. There was nothing in reach for Sherlock to use to pick the locks. Jim had even made sure that the hair pins she kept at the nape of her neck were removed. How he knew they were there, she had no idea. 

Sherlock refused to cooperate with any of the nurses’ and doctors’. Any food they gave her, she threw to the ground and if they came anywhere near her fists, she would strike out at them. The nurses were forced to sedate her to get close enough just to do a blood test. However, the sedations were light for fear of it bringing ill effects to the development of the fetus. Sherlock made sure to get herself sedated as much as possible. Eventually, they were forced to stop and Sherlock was restrained with shorter shackles. 

She never spoke to the nurses however, she watched them carefully. By the end of the third day, she knew each nurse and doctor better than their closest friends. Though the purpose of it all was to find who she could use to escape, it also gave her mind something to do. During the periods when the nurses weren’t attending her, Sherlock was completely alone with her mind.

That was a very dangerous thing. 

Trapped and without any mental stimulation, Sherlock was slowly being driven mad. Sedation helped, but when she was left alone in the dark, her mind would play with the shadows. Sometimes she swore she saw monsters and spiders. Even Jim made an appearance, though Sherlock wondered if it was truly him just playing with her mind. Sherlock would end up sleeping most of her time away, hoping that would keep her mind stable. But her dreams were no less haunting, especially her dreams of John. 

She dreamed of returning back to Baker Street only to find out that he had moved on. That he had married a woman and they had had a child together. John would play with his son, never once looking Sherlock’s way. And then Jim would be there to take her again; to take her back to the darkness and the madness of her own mind. Sherlock awoke once on the verge of tears. Those were the worst dreams. 

To save her sanity, Sherlock knew what she had to do.

Jim finally made his appearance at the end of the first week, whistling a nursery tune. “Hello, Mummy! How are we feeling today?”

“I feel like I’m going to kill you one day.”

“I’d love to see you try, darling.” Jim took a seat by Sherlock’s bed. For a few moments, he just stared at her, taking in the image of her tied up. “I don’t know what it is about you and handcuffs that just makes me so….hot. Honestly, you’re a bad influence on me!”

Sherlock didn’t jump to Jim’s bait. He was only trying to get under her skin. There were more important things to do.

“I want to propose a deal, Jim.”

He laughed, “Sherlock, you’re funny! What could you possibly offer me? I already have you exactly where I want you.”

“Participation,” Sherlock said, “Submission.”

Now that certainly peeked Jim’s interest. “Go on.”

She had to choose her words carefully, “I want my shackles removed and given free reign of my cell. I doubt you’ll let me go any farther than these walls. I want books and puzzles. I need mental stimulation so I don’t go mad in this place. Because what does a mad woman care for a child? You’ll hardly get any sport out of me.”

Sherlock gave Jim a few moments to think it over before adding, “I will give you your baby, Jim.” 

“I’m going to get it anyways,” Jim said, standing up, “but I’ll think over your little…proposal.”

He walked to the door before turning back around, “Oh, and I’m a bit disappointed that you didn’t ask about dear Johnny boy. It’s like you don’t even miss him….” And with that, Jim was gone.

It was another three days before Sherlock got her answer. When the nurses came in the morning, they unshackled her and stepped back, watching her carefully. One came forward with a needle to draw blood and true to her word, Sherlock extended her arm and cooperated with them for once. After the morning tests were done, the nurses allowed her to take a shower by herself instead of being bathed with a sponge. Sherlock was grateful for that small dignity. 

Another problem that arose from being bedridden for so long was that Sherlock’s strength had greatly diminished. When she first jumped off the bed, she nearly collapsed to the ground, her legs barely able to hold her weight. Sherlock began doing small exercises to regain her strength. She paced about the room for hours on end and did push-ups on the ground. However, she avoided any abdominal work outs and took a lot of breaks in between. If Jim thought she was using the exercise as an excuse to cause a miscarriage, Sherlock would lose her only bit of freedom in her cell.

Later, books were brought in for Sherlock to read, each one a book on pregnancy and parenting. On top of the stack, note read, “Have fun, Mummy! -JM.” Sherlock crumpled the note and began to read. It would still keep her mind busy, even if it did constantly remind her of Jim’s disgusting plan for her. 

Another week passed by and Jim made another visit. Sherlock was once again shackled in place to her bed. Apparently, Jim wasn’t going to take the chance that she would attack him again—a very smart move on his part. If she ever got the chance, she would tear him apart.

“Hello, Mummy,” he greeted her, “Have you been enjoying the literature I gave you?”

“Quite,” Sherlock said sarcastically, “not that I’ll need to know anything about children after I give birth.”

“But at least you can dream…”

Jim put a hand on Sherlock’s stomach, as if he could feel the life growing inside. It would be another three months before it would start kicking. 

“You’ve been so good, Sherly dear, that I thought I would reward you by giving you a bit of news about your brother.” Jim’s grin was anything but promising.

Sherlock feigned disinterest. Either Jim would lie to her if Mycroft was on her trail, or he would tell her the truth just to remind her that there was nothing she could do to help.   
For a moment, Jim pouted, a bit put out that Sherlock wasn’t taking as much interest as he had hoped. Still, he continued.

“It didn’t take long for your brother to learn that I had taken you out of the city, so I decided to take him on a bit of a wild goose chase. Right now, Mycroft believes you’re somewhere in Russia.” Jim’s grin returned, “But don’t worry, love. I left him a little present from the both of us.”

Forty-six miles from St. Petersburg, a team of Mycroft’s men raided a small flat. The intelligence report told them that a woman matching Sherlock’s description had been seen entering the building eight days ago. She had left to leave the flat. Yet once inside, the team found no sign of life. Instead, there was a neatly wrapped present laid in the middle of the sitting room addressed to Mycroft Holmes. 

Mycroft immediately had the package delivered to him after it was deemed non-explosive. Within twelve hours, he had the package in his hands. He opened it to find a small flash drive wrapped in another neat bow. When Mycroft loaded the flash drive to his laptop, he found a file that read: Sherlock and Jim’s Special Time!

It was a video of Sherlock’s rape. Jim had taped the entire thing. Mycroft watched in horror as he saw his sister sexually tortured by a psychopath. The video lasted over twelve hours. He closed the window and sent the flash drive to Anthea to go over. She was the only one he trusted with the task. Hopefully there would be something they could use to find Sherlock or Moriarty. 

After Anthea left his office, Mycroft poured himself two glasses of scotch and drank them quickly. He prayed that Sherlock would survive this. He prayed that she would forgive him for not protecting her from such a monster.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet is down at my house so I don't know when I'll be able to publish the next chapter, but things are about to pick up again!
> 
> Edit: Internet is back! I also added a few more tags to make it easier to find. Please comment on how I'm doing with the plot and if you have any suggestions....I might just listen to you guys ;)

When the nurses prepared Sherlock for her first ultrasound, they also strapped her to the bed. That meant that Jim was going to watch the procedure as well.

“Oh look, he’s moving!” Jim said in a falsely sweet voice. “Then again, we won’t know if it’s a he yet, but I have a good feeling about it.” He turned to Sherlock, “Have you been thinking about baby names, love? I think I remember giving you a book on them.”

“I was thinking Lucifer.” Sherlock said dryly, keeping her attention to the shapes on the screen. Her second choice had been Faust. 

Jim laughed, “I was thinking something I bit more traditional. At first I thought I’d just call him Jim Jr., but then I do love the name John.” He waited for her reaction.

Of course it would be John. Even the simple thing as the child’s name was supposed to cause Sherlock pain.

“If you really want to try and cut deep, why not name him Hamish?” John’s middle name and the one he offered to Sherlock and Ms. Adler when they were flirting in front of him.  
Jim was not going to be discouraged. He was going to get a rise out of her.

“Speaking of John—and I mean your John, not our John—I thought I’d send him a present as well since your brother seemed to have loved his so much….”

As much as Sherlock hated it, she wanted to know how John was. If he wasn’t doing well, Jim wouldn’t hesitate to tell her the truth, just to torture her. Jim saw the slight tension in Sherlock’s jaw and grinned. He got her.

“I took a picture of you sleeping, which by the way you look like an angel when you’re asleep, and had one of my pets break into Baker Street to make a delivery. Do you know how easy it is to sneak in? You really ought to change your locks.”

“Just get to the point,” Sherlock snapped. This only made Jim’s grin wider.

“Well someone’s in a mood. Must be the hormones….Anyways, I had my pet tape your little portrait on your wall, right next to the smiley face. When Johnny Boy came home, it’s the first thing he sees and you will not believe what he did!” Jim gave a dramatic pause, “He punched straight through the wall!” His laugh echoed through the room. 

Sherlock’s pulse quickened. Other than that, there was no reaction from her.

“Oh, and you should see how he looks. Dark circles under the eyes, unkempt hair and dirty jumpers. You’d think the soldier would be used to losing those closest to him.” His eyes flicked over to the screen. Sherlock was trying oh so hard not to care. How wonderful…”Calm down, Mummy, we don’t want you to get overexcited.

Jim stood up and adjusted his suit, “Well this has been fun, but I have work to do. Places to blow up, people to kill. You know, same old business.” He walked away, humming a nursery song under his breath.

The nurses cleaned Sherlock up and handed her a glass of water.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said, surprising one of the nurses (Lily was her name, wasn’t it?). Even after she began cooperating with them, Sherlock hardly talked to the nurses and never thanked them. Lily looked at her curiously before nodding and began putting away the ultrasound machine.

When Sherlock was once again alone with her thoughts, her hand travelled to her belly. 

“Hamish,” Sherlock murmured, “If you were John’s, I would have called you Hamish.”

\------------------------------------

The case would have been dull if it hadn’t ended with Sherlock and John chasing the suspect through the streets of London at midnight. Even if it wasn’t quite as mentally stimulating as Sherlock had hoped, the rush of endorphins from the running was delicious. 

Honestly, John was terrible at hiding his attraction to Sherlock. The way John would look at her was….interesting. Sherlock knew she was physically attractive, but every once in a while, she noticed that John looked at her like she was from another world. Like she was an alien being or work of ancient Greek art; something desired but never quite real. It was so obvious that even his dates could notice it whenever John brought them to the flat. And John wondered why he couldn’t keep them for more than a few weeks. 

And that night was no exception. The only thing that changed was that Sherlock decided to finally do something about it. 

“Sorry—“John was trying to mumble before Sherlock cut him off with a kiss, pushing him up against the wall. He tasted of tea and earth and /John/. Sherlock ran her tongue over his bottom lip, eliciting a moan from him as his hands wrapped around her waist. He pulled her closer to let his tongue caress hers. 

Sherlock ground her hips against John and grinned as she heard him groan deeply, the beginnings of his arousal pushing up against her thigh. Suddenly he pushed her away so he could look her in the eyes. His hands cupped her face as he looked at her curiously. 

Shit. He wanted to talk about this, didn’t he?

“Sherlo—“And she cut him off again with another kiss. She didn’t want to talk, she wanted to fuck.

“Take me to bed, John,” Sherlock whispered into his ear, her breath warm against his flesh. John was only human. His hands tugged at her shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked into her trousers. He explored the soft expanse of skin beneath the fabric as Sherlock pulled him to her bedroom. 

She unbuttoned her shirt and let John push it from her shoulders. He reached around and expertly unhooked her bra to let it fall to the ground as well. For a moment he just looked at her, taking in every inch of her exposed flesh. When he looked up back into her eyes, there was a question there and he wanted an answer. Sherlock stepped back and removed the rest of her clothes before climbing onto the bed, waiting for him. That was her answer.

John understood and began slowly removing his own clothes, letting them fall onto the floor with Sherlock’s. He climbed atop of her and looked down, smiling softly.

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly and before Sherlock could speak, he cut her off with a kiss. Finally he was say something to her. When he pulled away again, John’s smile became mischievous and his lips began trailing down Sherlock’s neck and shoulders before he took one of her breasts into his mouth, letting his teeth gently nip at her nipple. Sherlock let out a small gasp and he grinned.

John’s mouth moved down to her stomach and between her thighs. Pressing a quick kiss to Sherlock’s inner thigh, he let his tongue explore her entire sex. After a quick flick to her clitoris, John’s tongue gently parted the labia and tasted the wetness within. Sherlock moaned and John returned it with one of his own. When he returned to her pearl, her hips bucked up and he pushed them down his thumbs running circles over the bones beneath the flesh. Even when they were having sex, John couldn’t help but worry at how skinny she was. 

Sherlock ran her hands through John’s short, fine hair. His tongue circled around her clit and she let out another moan. John looked up at her and she returned his gaze, her pupils blown wide with arousal, her mouth parted open by soft pants. When she had had enough, Sherlock pulled on his hair, dragging him back up so she could claim his mouth, tasting herself on his lips. 

She pushed him back up into a sitting position and straddled his lap, teasing John’s cock with her entrance. Sherlock’s mouth found the scarred tissues on John’s shoulder and licked and nipped at the flesh. Never had any woman given such attention to John’s scar, they usually avoided the area. And yet here was Sherlock who treated it with as much desire as the rest of him. John pulled Sherlock closer to him and lifted her hips, guiding her down onto his cock. Both of them cried out in pleasure, the sounds echoing in Sherlock’s bedroom. 

Every time John thrust up into her, Sherlock met him with as much force, the smell of sex and sweat mingling together. Sherlock’s nails dug into the flesh of John’s back as she dragged them down leaving red marks that would last for hours. John groaned and retaliated by biting at the sensitive flesh on Sherlock’s neck, leaving a mark of his own.  
Sherlock came with a sharp cry and for a moment, John saw her without any barriers, the walls she had put up against the world gone. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. John came shortly after, keeping her body flushed with his as his orgasm shot through his entire body. Sherlock was still trembling in pleasure as he guided her back down to the bed and slipped out of her. He laid down next to her and tried to catch his breath. 

He had never made love to a woman like that. 

When the sweat began to cool on their bodies, Sherlock pulled the sheet up over them. John pulled her closer to his body and smiled when she rested her head on his shoulder. He didn’t say a word. They would have time to talk in the future. They would have a future together….

\----------------------

It was Sherlock’s eleventh week of pregnancy. It was time to start planning her escape.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want more updates on what I'm writing, my tumblr is notamorningbird. Please comment and tell me what you think of the plot so far!

“You know, darling,” Jim said during his next visit, “I’m surprised that you haven’t tried to escape yet.” He tilted his head to the side, “I don’t know whether to be disappointed or happy that you love spending so much time with me.”

Sherlock gave him a sarcastic smile, “And learn more about your dealings? Of course, I’m having the time of my life.”

Jim leaned back, his eyes full of amusement. She still wasn’t broken. Perfect. That will leave more fun for the two of them in the future.

“I’m sure you’re paying very close attention. And even if you were to make a break for it, my boys are ordered to take out Johnny Boy. It’s not only a camera I have aimed at the back of his head.”

Sherlock knew that Jim would pull something like that, but at least she now had confirmation. It would make things difficult, but not impossible.  
“I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t threatened John’s life.” 

Jim laughed, “Careful, Sherlock. For a moment there, it almost sounded like you loved the dear doctor.”

There were two teams of nurses and doctors that took care of Sherlock. After three days, the teams would switch out. The new group of nurses would smell faintly of exhaust fumes and dirt when they relieved the other group of their duties. Once, Sherlock saw a stray thread of fabric in one of the nurse’s hair. She realized that the nurses were driven out to the house and blindfolded so they were unable to give away the location of their charge. That meant for the three days they were kept here, they must live in the house above, most likely on the second floor.

Sherlock could remember the layout of the first floor from her brief visit. The front door opened up to a staircase leading upstairs and a small hallway that led to the parlor. To the right was the door to the kitchen, going by the smell of bread and tea leaves. When Sherlock was in the parlor with Jim, she noticed two more doors in the room. On the left was door cracked open that must have been Jim’s office. While being restrained and sedated, the nurse had entered through another door, to the right. Sherlock caught a glimpse of a stove and large work table. It was another door leading into the kitchen. That most likely meant that the stairs to the basement were also in the kitchen. Whether or not there was a third door in the kitchen leading to the outside was still a mystery. If there wasn’t one, Sherlock would have to escape using the front door. She didn’t like that idea.

However, that could wait. The next step was getting the nurses to actually like Sherlock. When she first began conversing with them, they were wary. They still hadn’t forgiven her for the biting. Still, Sherlock persisted in engaging them in pleasantries and talked about her condition with them. Eventually, she revealed some of the things she knew about them in a non-threatening way and offered advice to help them with their problems; money, family issues, and even relationship advice. 

Surprisingly enough, the nurses began taking her advice and talking to Sherlock more often and with less reserve. In exchange for her help, Sherlock asked the nurses for a few things to make her life more comfortable. She asked for better books than the ones that Jim had provided her with and certain kinds of food, blaming it on the cravings. Jim was already suspicious; this gave Sherlock a reason to talk to the nurses and get their trust. She knew better than to rely on them. They were too afraid of Moriarty’s power to willingly help Sherlock escape, but perhaps they wouldn’t interfere.

Still, there was the problem with John. Sherlock needed to make sure that John was safe by the time that either she escaped or was rescued. The best way for that to happen was to somehow get a message out to Mycroft, but even that would prove tricky. Sherlock couldn’t trust the nurses to deliver a message, and even if could get one of them to do so; there was no guarantee that Jim wouldn’t find out and punish her. It was too much of a risk.

But there was one thing that Sherlock did know. If Jim had promised to send word to his men if she were to ever attempt an escape that meant that there had to be some form of internet or cellular access. Sherlock was betting on cellular. 

Sherlock had to wait another three days for her target to arrive. The Lily girl had shown signs of a long term relationship that was beginning to break. Sherlock planned on using this to her advantage.

“Have you gone on a date with your boyfriend recently?” Sherlock asked Lily while the nurse was checking her blood pressure. 

“Uh, yeah, Adam took me to the movies last week after I got back from, well….here.” Sherlock frowned and Lily caught it. “What is it? Does that mean something?” She knew of her charge’s ability to see a deeper meaning in the smallest of actions. Could something be wrong with her and Adam?

“Did he check his phone often during the date?”

“Yes….but he’s told me he’s terribly busy with his job lately. He was promoted.”

“A very good excuse,” Sherlock said lightly, “I doubt he would waste time to text his coworkers while on a date. A very lazy date, I might add. He’s not putting as much thought into your relationship as usual….” Even for a simple minded nurse, Lily could understand the meaning behind that. Adam was cheating on her.

Of course that was complete bullshit. Adam was a small time investor and cared more about his money than his relationship, but Sherlock needed to use that to her advantage. Lily would be unable to confront Adam directly for two more days. If the nurse was truly worried about her love life, she might make a mistake.

And she did. The next day, Sherlock saw the outline of a small cellular phone in Lily’s pocket when she brought in lunch. While Sherlock ate, she saw Lily in the corner furiously texting her boyfriend Adam. 

When Sherlock finished, Lily came up to collect the plate and utensils, making sure Sherlock didn’t steal any of them. Sherlock put a hand to her mouth and suddenly looked pale. She stumbled past Lily and rushed into the bathroom, shutting the door. The sound of retching could be heard from behind the door.

Sherlock could be a very good actress when she wanted to be. While simulating being sick, she quickly typed out a message to send to Mycroft’s personal phone. That way, he would know it could only have come from her. 

Countryside home with medical equipment. Nurses and doctors travel every three days. Get John away from Moriarty’s eyes. –SH

She deleted the message from the woman’s phone and flushed the toilet. As easily as she had slipped the phone out of Lily’s pocket, she returned it to the woman. Sherlock could rely on Mycroft to do what was necessary. If John died, she’d never forgive her brother.

An hour later, Lily returned back upstairs to clean up the kitchen a bit before heading off to her room for the night. They weren’t allowed off the property and besides, she needed to talk to Adam. He was denying everything, but she just couldn’t believe him. 

While she washed a few pots and pans, one of her boss’s men entered the kitchen to grab a beer. He was tall, blond, and had cold eyes. A scar peaked out from his shirt; three slash marks that were rumored to have come from an encounter with a tiger. Lily wasn’t sure if she believed that, but she knew the man was dangerous and wanted to get as far away from him as possible. She quickly finished the dishes and was nearly out of the kitchen when her phone beeped with a message from Adam. 

“You aren’t allowed to have cellphones when you’re here.” The man said from behind, “Did you go downstairs with that phone?”

Lily slowly turned around, her heart pounding inside her chest, “N-no, I didn’t. I swear!” She could tell that the man didn’t believe her, “She never touched it! I kept to the corners…I’m sorry, but it’s just that I’m having problems with my boyfriend and I needed to talk to him and I’m so so sorry, please tell the boss!”

The man ran a hand through Lily’s hair.

“I know you’re sorry,” he whispered, “but that doesn’t change a thing. You knew the rules.” 

He snapped her neck.


	10. Chapter 10

John walked through the doors to Lestrade’s office at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. He usually did this once or twice or even three times a week. It used to be every day during the three weeks that Sherlock had been kidnapped, but Lestrade was forced to put a stop to that for John’s sake. It wasn’t helping the man. Every visit was for the same thing: an update on Sherlock’s case.

Technically, Lestrade shouldn’t have been allowed to take the case due to his relationship with Sherlock and yet, he was the man who knew Sherlock best and actually cared for the woman’s wellbeing. It might have also been due to Mycroft’s influence, but he detective didn’t understand why. Surely Sherlock’s brother was doing his own investigation with much better resources than Lestrade had at the Yard. Then he realized it was because he was the only one Mycroft and John could trust. Moriarty was powerful enough to have men in the police working for him. If one of those men took the case, they would never come close to finding her.

“Greg,” John said, greeting the detective. There were dark circles under his eyes from restless nights. He couldn’t sleep and spent every waking hour trying to find something that would lead him to Sherlock. It left him tired and strained. He was stretched so far he was afraid he would snap, but there was no way he could stop and rest. Sherlock was still out there with that monster. He couldn’t fail her.

“Close the door, John,” Lestrade said quietly. This immediately alerted John. Something had happened. He closed the door and took a seat across from Greg.

“You have something.”

Lestrade nodded, “Mycroft called and told me he received contact from Sherlock. He’s positive it was from her and not another game by Moriarty.” He handed John a handwritten copy of what the message said:

Countryside home with medical equipment. Nurses and doctors travel every three days. 

John took a deep breath as he let the message sink in. Sherlock was alive and well enough to send a message to them to find her. But why was there medical equipment and doctors where Sherlock was being kept? Was Moriarty torturing her and having them patch her back up every time he was finished with her? The thought made him sick, but he knew the man was capable of such a thing.

“Did you trace the number? Mycroft was supposed to tell me directly whenever he had new information.” Instead the man went to Lestrade first! John knew it was irrational to get upset over it. Greg could do more with the information than John could and yet it ate him up inside. He truly was useless in this situation, wasn’t he?

“He knew you were coming here.” Lestrade answered, “It was a text so they couldn’t trace the signal to her location, but we identified the owner of the number, one Lily Cooper. She’s a nurse from Brighton.”

“Okay, we find her and question her where they’re keeping Sherlock. She’s just a nurse, if we offer her protection she might talk.” Finally, a lead! 

Greg sighed, “She’s dead, John. We found her body in London this morning. She was dumped in a bin in an alley.” He tossed over a file to John with a photo of a young woman with her neck snapped, her eyes staring into nothingness.

John nearly slammed the file back onto the desk. Of course it wouldn’t be that simple! And if the woman who owned the phone was dead, what could it mean for Sherlock’s condition? He glared at the photo, hating the damn woman for getting herself killed before they could find out where Sherlock was.

And then the anger and hatred was gone. John covered his eyes with his hand, suddenly feeling only emptiness and guilt. Lily Cooper was a victim just like Sherlock. He had no right to blame her. After a moment, he scanned the picture trying to put his medical knowledge to use. However, it was his military knowledge that helped him.

“Her neck was broken by someone trained in the military,” John said, “He was probably trained in covert operations and if he’s working for Moriarty, he might have been dishonorably discharged. Moriarty’s men seem to be on the violent side.” Maybe if they found the man who killed Lily Cooper, it could lead them to Moriarty….and Sherlock.  
Greg took the file back, “That’s good to know. I’ll have my people look into it immediately.” He stood up and grabbed his coat, “But you and I are going out for a pint now.”  
John frowned, “It’s only three, Greg. You’re still on duty.”

“Mycroft told me to take you out for a pint.” There was a warning in Lestrade’s tone. There was still something both of them weren’t telling him. John stood up and followed him out of the office.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he hissed once they were out of the building, heading for the pub three blocks away. It was frequented by officers that were off duty and John had had spent more time in there in there than he had wished. More than once Lestrade had had to order him a cab to get him home.

“Sherlock said you were being watched.”

“Of course I’m being watched. Moriarty put a damn photo of Sherlock in my sitting room while I was out!”

Greg kept walking but turned his head to look John in the eyes, “Yes, and now the woman whose phone Sherlock used is dead. If Moriarty knows that she tried to contact us, then he might retaliate by going after those Sherlock cares about the most, you being first on the list!” 

If Lestrade hadn’t turned his head to look at John, he might have never seen the red dot that flashed on John’s forehead as they walked. He knocked John to the ground right before the shot was fired, hitting the brick building where’s John head had been a second ago. Both men rolled out of the line of fire and took cover in the alleyway. John scanned the windows of the building across from them, trying to find signs of the sniper. He reached behind him and pulled out his Browning from under his jacket. Lestrade pulled out his own gun, not commenting on John’s illegal possession. 

Another shot was fired, hitting the bin both men were using as cover. John saw which window it came from and stood up, aimed, and fired three shots. From that distance, he didn’t believe he had hit his target, but it gave him and Lestrade a chance to make a run for it. They raced down the alleyway and turned the corner. A black car was waiting for them. Mycroft.

John and Lestrade entered the vehicle without a word. Once safely inside, the car sped off and disappeared into the London traffic.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock woke up one morning only to be roughly removed from her bed and placed in the middle of the room with two guards at her side. Another man with blond hair and a scar made by a tiger’s claw soon entered the room.

“You must be Colonel Moran,” Sherlock said coolly, “How was China? You’ve only been back a week and you’re already killing nurses.”

There was a curl of his lip and in seconds Moran was before her, running a hand through her hair. “The boss said you had a pretty mouth,” he said, “too bad you had to fuck that doctor while I was away. Jim originally wanted me to be there when he had you; wanted me to give you something to do with that mouth while he fucked you from behind.”

“I think you should consider yourself fortunate,” Sherlock growled, “I bite.” 

Moran laughed and motioned for his men to search the cell, to find anything Sherlock may have hidden to aid in an attempt to escape.

While the men ransacked the room, Moran continued to taunt Sherlock.

“That doctor of yours got lucky yesterday. He was able to get away before our man could take him down. Now he’s probably hiding away like a little coward. Believe me, Miss Holmes, he won’t be so lucky next time because I’ll kill him myself.”

Sherlock frowned, “I kept my end of the deal. I haven’t tried to escape and I’ve been cooperating with the doctors. That’s not good business.”

Moran shrugged, “You do have a point, but I’m just doing my job. And I do love my job.” He called his men; there was nothing in this room. Right before he exited, he turned around and added, “But for Jim, you’re not business. You’re pleasure.” 

Later, the nurses were ordered to shackle Sherlock’s legs. She was still allowed to roam around the cell, but she lost the ability to run. Honestly, she thought she was getting off easy. There was no evidence that Sherlock had actually taken the phone, but the fact that John had been so quickly removed from the public eye left Jim suspicious. Now the nurses and doctors were ordered to stay the entire week before being switched out with a fresh team. 

Sherlock could work with this.

She had expected the room search and had planned for it. Simply, she didn’t start stealing what she needed until after they had finished ransacking her room. The easiest things for her to get were hair pins. Sherlock quickly snatched them up and hid them at the nape of her neck. A few days later and she had been able to convince a nurse that she had forgotten to take out a syringe, tucking the extra underneath her blanket while the woman grabbed another from the locked drawer. Later that night, using the pins and syringe as a lock pick, Sherlock was able to break into the drawer and take a scalpel. She hid her items in the corner of her mattress. The tear was the size of a nickel and barely noticeable between the sheets. 

At the end of the week, Sherlock planned to make her escape. She would be fifteen weeks pregnant.

It was another three days before the nurses did another batch of tests on the growing life inside Sherlock. The next ultra sound showed that the fetus was indeed male. Sherlock was lucky that Jim was out of the country, she wouldn’t have to ‘celebrate’ the news with him. However, that didn’t stop Moran stopping by with a bouquet of blue flowers and a note from Jim.

Daddy is very proud of our son! Take good care of him for me, Mummy! xo JM

Sherlock thanked Moran by telling him how one of his men was cheating him in their nightly games of poker. She smirked when Moran scowled and walked off. The next day the man in question was found beaten to nearly an inch of his life; one less guard for Sherlock to worry about when she made her escape.

After the ultrasound, the doctor came in to extract amniotic fluid to test for Down syndrome. They also ran a paternity test. 

Two days later and Sherlock knew what the results were just by the look on the doctor’s face as he read the report. The child wasn’t Jim’s. It came from John. Sherlock never before felt such an emotion—elation followed by sheer terror. What was Jim going to do now?

The day Sherlock had planned on escaping, she found herself once again strapped down to the bed. Jim soon entered the room, his eyes dark. No sign of amusement on his face and no witty banter to greet Sherlock with. 

“It seems we have a little problem, my dear.” Jim’s eyes glanced over the slight swell of Sherlock’s belly. 

“And what would that be? Not sure what sort of diapers to buy. I was thinking cloth diapers. You can afford it and it’s good for the—“Jim cut her off by pressing down on her stomach, his nails digging into her skin. Sherlock gasped. 

“Silence! You know very well what I’m talking about. That brat isn’t mine!”

Sherlock couldn’t hide the smirk on her face. “What can I say? His sperm made it to my egg before you. Quality over quantity.”  
Jim’s lip curled up in a sneer as he bent down to whisper in Sherlock’s ear.

“I’m not going to give you the pleasure of an abortion. You’re going to carry Johnny Boy’s baby to full term and give birth to it. Then I’m going to make you watch as I slit its throat and send the corpse to your precious doctor. Do you think he’ll recognize his own child?” he nipped her ear and continued, “And then we’ll start all over again, Sherlock. I’ll have you in every way possible until you give me what I want….”

He pulled away just long enough to take in the hatred in Sherlock’s eyes before taking her mouth in a brutal kiss. It was a claim and a promise of what was to come. It was more of a bite than a kiss.

Sherlock could taste blood in her mouth as he left her, turning off the lights to keep her in the dark. For nearly six hours, no one entered her cell until finally the new team of nurses came in to take care of her. They unstrapped her from the bed and let her take a shower. But she had missed her chance at escape. It would be another week before the next switch. 

She didn’t think she had a week now. Jim could change his mind and kill the baby at any moment so he could start again. Sherlock wasn’t going to let that happen.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a rape scene at the beginning.

Two days later and Sherlock noticed that the house seemed to be busier than usual. She could hear more footsteps on the floor above her. Something was going on. 

A few hours later and Moran entered her cell, motioning for all of the nurses to return to their rooms.

“You have company today.” Sherlock said as Moran walked up to her.

He smirked. “Very observant you are. The boss has a meeting today but don’t worry. When he’s done he’s going to pay you a little visit.”

“I suppose he’ll want to blame me for the child’s genetics again.”

Moran put his hands on either side of Sherlock, “Oh no, darling. This is a fun visit.” He leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers. “And boss said I could get started without him. I’d love to see what you pretty little mouth can do.”

Sherlock had been expecting this. “And if I try to resist, you have the freedom to harm me if you wish.”

“I’m allowed to break your arm, but be a good girl and I won’t have to.”

Silently, she slipped off the edge of the bed and switched places with Moran, letting him lean against the side she was sitting on. 

Moran smirked, “Good girl,” and ran his fingers in her hair as she knelt down before him to undo his trousers. She slid his trousers and pants down to the middle of his thighs, exposing his cock to her. He was already half hard when Sherlock began stroking him.

She heard him hiss as her hands got him fully erect before taking him into his mouth. Sherlock wanted to get this over with.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his hands tightening in her hair. Sherlock looked up to find Moran staring down at her intently, watching her lips slide over his cock. That’s not what she needed him to do.

Sherlock gripped the sides of the bed around him as she worked his cock, trying not to gag when Moran canted his hips forward. At least he wasn’t just fucking her mouth. He took more pleasure knowing that she was forced to participate, rather than just being a passive hole to stick his cock in.

When she began sucking harder on him, Moran let his head fall back with a husky moan. That’s when Sherlock dug into the hole in her mattress to pull out her weapons. She kept working him hard to keep him distracted before plunging the syringe straight into his femoral artery. The heavy sedative entered his bloodstream and Sherlock pulled back, falling to the ground before him.

Moran cried out and looked down at the needle still stuck in his thigh. 

“You little bitch!” he snarled, grabbing her by the collar of her gown. His movements were already slowing down as the sedative kicked in. With her other hand, Sherlock struck out with the scalpel, cutting him across the bridge of his nose. The blood ran freely down his face as he let her go, falling to the ground before her. “You are so dead,” he slurred. 

“I don’t have time to die.” Sherlock said, giving him a good kick to the stomach before he passed out. Then she knelt down to pick his pockets, taking his security card and a cellphone. Obviously he wasn’t paying any attention to the rules as well. 

Taking out a hairpin, she quickly picked the lock on the shackles around her ankles. There was no time to lose and she needed to run. Then she used the security card to unlock the cell door and finally leave the basement after three months in captivity. But she was nowhere near free yet. Now came the hard part….

When Sherlock opened the door to the kitchen on the first floor, it was empty. All the nurses must have gone upstairs to stay out of the way. Voices drifted from down the hallway, Jim’s voice overpowering the others. He sure loved to hear himself speak. To Sherlock’s dismay, there was no side door in the kitchen leading to the outside. That meant she would have to go through the front door to escape and there was no going back now. 

Quietly, she walked down the hallway towards the front door. Beside it was a rack with a wide array of expensive coats. Six other wealthy business men were at this meeting. That would certainly keep Jim busy for a while and even better—there would be more cars in the front.

Sherlock took the largest coat, covering up her gown and bare legs. She’d have to find shoes later. Taking a quick look outside the window, she could see three men on watch and a few chauffeurs having a smoke beneath a tree across from the watch men. She needed a distraction.

Moran’s phone had a simple alarm clock on its settings. Sherlock walked back to the kitchen and set the alarm to go off in one minute before tossing it out the side window and into the small woods. Then she went back to the front door and wait. 

Soon enough, the men heard the phone’s alarm and went off to investigate. The drivers turned their heads to watch the men walking towards the woods on the side of the house. This gave Sherlock enough time to step outside and walk towards the nearest black car.

Running would only catch people’s eyes, leaving Sherlock to walk slowly even as her heart was racing in her chest, the adrenaline pumping through her system. She was so close! The sound the door made as she opened it was so loud that Sherlock feared the drivers would notice. And yet the idiots didn’t. It wasn’t until she had started up the engine that the men turned their heads and shouted, alerted the guards to come back. But it was too late. Sherlock pushed down on the accelerator right as the guards rounded back to the front, their guns raised. Gunshots rang out as she turned down the dirt road and a few found their mark on the side of the car. 

The shouts and gunfire could be heard from inside the house. Jim’s eyes widened, knowing that it could only be one thing. Sherlock. 

“SEBASTIAN!” Jim screamed, running for the front door. He could even smell her here. How could his best man have allowed her to escape? Outside, the guards had just lowered their weapons as the car had just gotten out of sight. Jim heard one of the drivers complain that was his car. Within ten seconds, the man was dead with a bullet through his head. Jim gave the guard back his gun and ordered him to get a car and follow after her.

Two minutes later, he was standing over Sebastian’s unconscious form, blood pooling around the man’s face from where Sherlock had cut him. Jim sneered, and kicked the man before storming back upstairs. He had a few calls to make. Sherlock would not escape him. 

 

Sherlock kept her foot firmly on the accelerator until she was out on the motorway and surrounded by other drivers. That’s when she had to force herself to slow down. If a cop pulled her over or if she got in any kind of accident, it would be over. Jim’s men would find her and take her back to her prison. No, they would be looking for a mad woman racing down the motorway. The smart thing would to keep her speed with those around her and hide among the other drivers as she headed back to London. There could be no room for error. 

Soon enough, another car raced by the group of cars that she had been hiding amongst. The idiots didn’t even notice her or the fenders covered in dirt. Sherlock allowed herself to relax a little bit. She needed to calm herself down and think of her next move. 

There were not many places that Sherlock could go in London that Jim wouldn’t make sure to have someone waiting there to grab her. The Yard, Baker Street, Angelo’s, St. Bart’s—all those places were out of the question. Yet she needed to go somewhere where there were people she could trust….and a phone. The streets wouldn’t be safe and her homeless network would offer her no protection. Anyone could use them as long as they paid. Like Jim.

By the time Sherlock entered the outskirts of London two hours later, she knew where she needed to go.

 

Molly always enjoyed her half days at work whenever she got them. She could spend a few hours at work before going home to have a nice lunch and catch up on the telly. When she opened the door to her small flat, she halfway to the kitchen before she finally noticed the haggard looking woman with the crazy curls curled up on her sofa.

“Hello, Molly,” Sherlock said quietly with a small smile. “I need your phone.”

Molly nearly screamed. “Sherlock!” she gasped. It only took her a few moments to look over the state of the woman; dark circles under her eyes, wild hair, and bruised, bloodied bare feet covered in dirt. Molly took her phone out of her pocket, tossed it to Sherlock, and then rushed into the bathroom to grab her med kit.

Sherlock sent one more text to Mycroft.

Escaped. Molly Hooper’s flat. Send someone I know. –SH

By the time the message was sent, Molly had returned with her kit, a wash cloth, and a bowl of warm water. She didn’t even ask first before grabbing Sherlock’s foot and began washing the dirt and blood away. With tweezers, she picked out pieces of gravel and glass before putting antiseptic on the small cuts and wrapping everything up in thick, white gauze.

“So you walked here, then? All the way from where….he kept you?” Molly couldn’t even look up at her. She focused on her work and picked up the other foot gently and avoiding the bruises from the shackles Sherlock wore around her ankles.

“No. I drove and then dumped the vehicle in an empty parking lot ten blocks away.” Sherlock took a deep breath, but her hands were shaking. She willed them to stop before Molly noticed. 

“I’ll let you rest here for as long as you need. I’m not afraid. Gregory even gave me a gun just in case someone tried to break in,” she laughed nervously, “I don’t even know how to shoot!”

“Gregory?”

“DI Lestrade. I had to hide him here for a few days after he and John were attacked.”

That got Sherlock’s attention. “Where is John now?” she asked, “Tell me!”

Molly flinched, “I don’t know. He was fine when I saw him, but only Gregory stayed with me. John was taken somewhere else…”

Thank god. Mycroft pulled through and kept John safe. 

Molly frowned. “Are you…wearing anything under that coat?”

“Not exactly.”

Molly flushed and then stood up hurriedly. “I have some clothes that you can wear. They might be a bit big since you’ve always been so skinny but it’s better than nothing.” She went back to her bedroom and pulled out a pair of trousers and a blouse for Sherlock. 

Sherlock stood up when Molly returned and took off her coat. That’s when Molly saw the gown and the woman’s belly.

“Oh my god, you’re pregnant!” Molly nearly dropped the clothes in her arms. She handed the clothes to Sherlock and quietly said, “He was going to take it, wasn’t he?”

“If I have my way, he won’t.” Sherlock ripped the dress off, not caring that Molly hadn’t had time to look away and began dressing. She couldn’t get the trousers to button over her stomach, so she let it be. The blouse covered enough of it anyways as long as she didn’t tuck it in.

“Well that’s good because he’s not going to win.” 

There was a silence between them.

“Do you know the baby’s sex yet?”

“Boy.”

“Oh,” Molly smiled, “I bet he’ll be just lovely. And smart since he’s yours….”

There was a knock at the door. Molly’s eyes widened and she silently looked at Sherlock for direction.

“Get your gun.” Sherlock said, walking over to the door to peer through the peep hole. 

It was Anthea. Sherlock could never be happier to see that damn woman. Motioning for Molly to put down her weapon (which she was very awkwardly holding), she opened the door.

“About time. Is the area secured?”

Anthea gave one of her professional smiles. “Of course, but we don’t have much time. Moriarty will eventually figure out where you went and we still need to escort Ms. Hooper to a safe house.” One of Mycroft’s men followed her through the door. “Jacob here will take care of Ms. Hooper. You need to come with me immediately.”

Sherlock grabbed her coat.

“Sherlock,” Molly called out, stepping towards her, “When this is all…over, do the three of you want to come over to have dinner one night?” She had meant Sherlock, John, and the baby.

“Of course,” Sherlock said, “We’d love to.” Molly’s face stretched into a big smile.

“Great!”

Without another word, Sherlock was out the door. The car would take her to Mycroft and hopefully….John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About time I finally finished this chapter! Things have been a bit hectic here at home, but I should be able to get back to semi-regular updates. No more one month hiatuses, I promise!!! 
> 
> Also, I just had to add Molly into this. I love her so much....


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision has been made.

“We have her.” The words sent a wave of relief through Mycroft as he sat at his desk in his private office. Now to tell John the news. With a heavy sigh, Mycroft stood up and went to the other side of the family manor where John’s room had been set up. The man in question was currently cleaning his weapon; an activity he had been doing more often than necessary since the attack. He wanted to be ready when it was time to get Sherlock. 

Mycroft knocked silently on the doorframe, looking at the man seated in the corner with his Browning. “Hello, John.”

“You’ve received more information about Sherlock. Do you know where she is yet?” John didn’t even look up as he spoke.

“Yes.” Mycroft said, “She is in fact on her way as we speak.” 

John put down his weapon. 

“How long have you known?” The anger was barely concealed in his voice. “That she had escaped.” It was the only explanation. Moriarty wouldn’t have ever let her go freely.

“Less than an hour,” Mycroft calmly replied, “If I had told then, you would have demanded to go with the team I had sent.”

“Damn straight! I need to protect her—“ 

“And I promised her that I would keep you safe as well,” he interrupted, “Right now Moriarty is furious that Sherlock has somehow managed to escape him. We are not sure of the details on how she escaped or from where, but we are sure that he is not far behind her. You going out there gives him the perfect opportunity to lash out at her. You are a target, John.”

John hadn’t forgotten that. “I know….” And he was still pissed. “When will she be here? I’ll need my kit just in case she needs medical help.” 

“That’s already being taken care of. There are other things I need you to prepare for.” Mycroft pulled out a file and placed it on John’s desk. “Please read through this quickly. 

Sherlock should be here within the hour.” Then he left John alone, having many things to see to in preparation of Sherlock’s return. The danger had still yet to pass.

The file consisted of forged documents, passports, and information regarding those under protective custody. They were going into hiding. In fact, judging by the passports, they wouldn’t even be kept in the country. Mycroft planned to have Sherlock and John taken far away to make it as difficult as possible for Moriarty to find them. John wondered if this was a good idea, depending on Sherlock’s state. What did that bastard do to her these past three months?

After he was finished reading the file, John and went to the bathroom to wash his face. His hands were steady, prepared for whatever was going to drive up to the manor. John then walked down the hall towards the parlor to wait.

Twenty minutes later, a black car drove up. As calm John had seem waiting for it to show, he was now running out the front door. He needed to see her. He needed to make sure she was okay.

What stepped out of the car was a bare footed woman in a large coat and a mass of black curls upon her head. There was no mistaking that this was Sherlock. And she was still pregnant. 

Neither of them spoke when they saw each other. Sherlock was frozen, her eyes wide as she stared at John. For a moment, she wondered if this was all a figment of her imagination. A trick her mind had created once she had finally gone insane in Moriarty’s cell. The man before her looked years older than he really was (then again, he was always like that) and was slowly walking towards her. 

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock tightly, breathing in her scent. This was her. She was safe for now. The way Sherlock had stared at him reminded him of the night they first met Moriarty at the pool. The way she had looked at him when he stepped out, strapped in semtex. That lost child….Now with child.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he breathed, “You absolutely mad woman!”

“John,” Sherlock’s voice cracked as she spoke. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. Everything she had learned, everything they needed to discuss and plan and act on. Finally, she said, “His name is Hamish, John.” And then the world went black.

He felt her go limp in his arms. Sherlock had actually fainted.

“Help me get her inside!” John called out, keeping the unconscious woman upright. One of Mycroft’s men picked up her legs and they carried her to a bedroom where a team of nurses were ready for her. They stuck an IV in her arm and removed Molly’s bandages to look over the wounds themselves. John worked with them, cataloging every injury Sherlock had gotten during her imprisonment and escape. If he ever had the chance, he would do the same to Moriarty. Blood for blood, pain for pain. But for now, John focused on getting Sherlock well. He barely thought of the last words she said to him.

When Sherlock awoke, she thought she was still in the cell. She was in a bed surrounded by nurses, after all. It had been all a figment of her imagination. It took her a good minute to realize that this wasn’t the same room or the same nurses. It was the guest bedroom of the Holmes manor. She knew this room well as she often hid in it as a child when she was in trouble or wanted to be alone.

She really did escape. 

“Sherlock,” John said quietly, noticing that she had finally stirred. “Do you know where you are?”

“In the guest bedroom of my family’s estate. As I had fainted upon arrival, it would have been too difficult to have carried me upstairs to my old bedroom” Sherlock grinned, unable to contain her excitement. She had escaped. She was free! 

“Calm down, Sherlock.” John said, taking hold of her hand. “You’re getting that manic look in your eyes. We’re not out of the woods yet.” And that brought her back to reality.  
“Mycroft is going to have us moved to another location, most likely out of the country.” 

John nodded, “Yes. Of course you’d know exactly what Mycroft would do.” He smiled. At least she seemed more or less herself. His eyes drifted to her stomach.

“When are we leaving?”

“As soon as we run a couple more quick tests on—“

Sherlock cut him off and sat up, removing the IV from her arm. “There’s no need. Moriarty has seen to it that I’m in the best of health and Molly patched up my feet after my escape.”

She stood up, but nearly fell back down as a wave of dizziness struck her. John caught her and wrapped an arm around her waist. He helped her into a pair of trousers that actually fit her and a pair of shoes. There was no point in arguing. The faster they got to wherever they were going, the sooner John could make sure Sherlock was truly alright and not just faking it. 

Mycroft entered the room finally. He hadn’t even been present when the car had rolled up. “It’s good to see you again, dear sister. The car is ready. We need to leave now.” He led them through the servant’s entrance to where five cars were lined up. The third one had a door open, waiting for them to get in so the caravan could leave. 

“Decoys.” John muttered, mostly to himself. Moriarty would be watching after all. He wondered if this was how the royal family was treated when they had to leave during an emergency. Once all three of them were inside, the car started up and once again, they were on the move. Sherlock had been in London for less than five hours.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said, sitting across from the other two. “I think it’s time you tell us everything that has happened to you since you were taken.”

“No, absolutely not,” John poured a glass of water for Sherlock. “She’s just escaped and needs to rest. We can go over everything once we’re in a safer place.”

Sherlock sighed, “Or I can just get it over with so Mycroft can get a start on tracking Moriarty down.” John kept his mouth shut as she began telling about her three months in captivity. She explained what Moriarty had planned for her, how she played along, and how she finally escaped earlier today. The entire time, both John and Mycroft were dead silent.

John wasn’t ready for this. He realized he didn’t want her to talk about it more for his own selfish need than her health. What Moriarty had planned for her was worse than he could have imagined. To take her child… His child! Hamish! John took a deep breath, letting the conflicting emotions run through him for a moment. Love, fear, joy, hate….He would need to talk to her about this later.

“Once we get you situated,” Mycroft said once she was done, “I can have it arranged for it to be…removed.” He looked down at her stomach. John paled and was about to object before Sherlock spoke up.

“No. I’m keeping him,” she said, her head held high, “However, I would like to be sterilized so I will never have to face this situation again.”

Mycroft paused for a moment, looking over his sister curiously. Then his expression hardened. “Do you really think that is a wise decision, Sherlock; to actually give birth to the child? It will be a target for its entire life. There is no guarantee for its safety or yours for that matter. The simplest thing would be to let you have an abortion.” 

She didn’t hesitate to object. “Hamish will be the only child I’ll have. That is all.” Sherlock looked out the window, ending the conversation for now. Her expression was cold, distant. Right now she needed to rest, to plan her next move. Her wishes were now made known and she would not be forced to explain herself. Sherlock was done with others making decisions about her body, her son. 

John remained silent. He wasn’t sure how he should react. This was his and Sherlock’s child they were talking about and she seemed to want to keep it. That enough should make him happy. But for what purpose did she want to keep him? Mycroft had a point. The child would be a target. Moriarty wouldn’t stop until he either killed it or took it as far away from Sherlock as possible. Then he came to a terrible conclusion. Was Sherlock using the child as bait to bring Moriarty out into the open for a final showdown? For her, this could simply be about revenge, with no thought about how the child should be cared for in the future if she ended up taking it to full term.   
John looked over at Sherlock, studying her careful. But she had already rebuilt her walls. They were shaky, but he wasn’t going to push her at the moment. All he could think about was what her plan was now.


	14. Chapter 14

The decoy cars proved to be vital in getting Sherlock out of London. As they headed north on the highway, Mycroft received word that the car heading for London International Airport had been intercepted. The driver had been tortured for information and promptly murdered. 

Mycroft had been very crafty. The route they were taking took them right past the exit that lead to the house Moriarty had used for Sherlock’s prison. Not even twelve hours and Sherlock was back where she started from. Thick black smoke could be seen rising through the tree tops.

They continued north, towards Scotland. 

John couldn’t believe the measures that Mycroft was taking to keep Sherlock out of Jim’s grasp. But if it had been any other enemy, there would have been no need. It was half past midnight when they finally arrived at their destination: an empty field, save for one small plane. 

“This is as far as I can accompany you,” Mycroft said as they walked towards the plane. “I won’t dare risk visiting the safe house, though I will send personal agents of mine to check up on you and send messages.”

“I want every scrap of information you have on Moriarty,” Sherlock said. It was the first time she spoke since she informed them on her wishes regarding the child. “You’re going to need my help tracking him down.” 

“As you wish,” he said. There was no time to argue. “Goodbye.”

John helped Sherlock into the plane, keeping a hand on the small of her back. Though small, it was luxurious with plush seats and one attendant to see to all their needs. The seats even fully reclined so the passengers may sleep.

“Sherlock, you need to rest,” John said, “you’ve been through enough stress today.” He handed her a water bottle and a blanket the attendant had provided them. 

“I’ll sleep when we get to the safe house.” Sherlock murmured. At least she drank the water he had given her. John even managed to get some food into her as well. She wasn’t as adverse to eating food and he knew why. It was for the baby.

The flight ended sooner than John had imagined. They were out of the country but not as far away as he had hoped. The flight attendant told them they were in France. That was all. 

“Why France?” he asked quietly after they were escorted to another nondescript vehicle and spirited away from the small airport. America would have been a better choice or even Russia, perhaps; big countries with lots of large cities to hide in.

“Because Moriarty wouldn’t be expecting it,” Sherlock answered him, looking out the window. The moon was setting and soon the first rays of light would be visible in the distance. “We’re far enough away to be off his radar but close enough to sneak back into London if the need arose. Also, Mycroft has many connections in the Mediterranean and Asia. Moriarty would look there first.”

“Hide in the enemy’s shadow,” he sighed. It was a dangerous move. He hoped that it would protect them in the long run. Or at least until Hamish is born.

Hamish.

“You know,” John said, “Hamish is a really horrible name for a child, Sherlock. Are you sure—“

“I’m sure. It’s to keep with the Holmes’ family tradition.”

“You mean give them incredibly strange names that will haunt them for the rest of their lives?”

“Exactly,” In the fading darkness, John thought he saw the ghost of a smile on Sherlock’s lips as she spoke. It had been too long since he had seen such a beautiful thing.

Safe house really couldn’t be used to describe where Mycroft had arranged for Sherlock and John to hide in; more like, safe manor. It was a large, three story building with neoclassical architecture, complete with an intricately designed landscaping in the front drive. Inside was richly furnished with at least half a dozen bedrooms, two parlors, a study, library, four bathrooms, a large modern kitchen, and a wine cellar. Even in hiding, Sherlock’s brother had to show off his /excellent/ tastes. This also included a state of the art security system and personal body guards.

Two miles away was a small village where supplies would be brought to them by the house staff, a maid, butler, and cook. Mycroft planned to have his sister and her partner protected in comfort and style. 

As soon as John and Sherlock arrived to their new home, they were greeted by the house staff. 

“Mr. Watson, Ms. Holmes,” the butler said, “I’m Lawrence and I will be assisting you during your stay here as well as Ms. Bennett and Mr. Crowley. We’ve set tea up in the parlor and we’ll be going over the details of your protection before giving you a tour of the grounds.”

“No,” John said immediately, “What you’re going to do is show us to our rooms. We need to eat and rest before doing anything else.”

It looked like Lawrence was going to object, but then must have finally seen the state the two were in, especially Sherlock’s haggard form. “Right, this way then.” He escorted them up to the second floor towards the east side of the building where their bedrooms had been prepared. 

Just like the rest of the house, their rooms were richly furnished with antiques and what had to be the most comfortable bed John had ever seen. In John’s room, his bed was covered in a soft, forest green. In Sherlock’s room, hers was a deep burgundy. There were doors that lead to a shared bathroom, connecting the two rooms. John saw that Sherlock was put to bed and told Lawrence to have toast and orange juice brought up. It was strange to him how Sherlock never put up a fight. She absolutely hated it when he doted on her like this. It worried him.

“Sherlock,” he said once they were alone again, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, John.” It was an obvious lie. The woman’s eyes took in her new environment, before settling on the windows. “Open the windows for me.” 

He obeyed. The morning light spilled into the room, giving them a full view of the grounds. It certainly was a beautiful place….and hopefully safe.

“Alright,” John said, “I’ll be next door if you need me. You’re not the only one who needs sleep.” He headed for the door.

“John.” 

He stopped. “Yeah, Sherlock?”

“Stay.”

That was all he needed to hear. John kicked off his shoes before crawling on the bed next to her. It was large enough that there was a bit of a gap between them. John didn’t move to close it. Whatever Sherlock needed, he would give her. He would not push her any further than that. If all she needed to know was that someone was in the room with her, then he would do that. 

“Anything else?” he murmured, turning on his side to look at her.

“No.” Sherlock closed her eyes, finally allowing herself to drift asleep. John watched as her breath deepened and her body relaxed. A stray curl hung on her forehead and he dared to push it away from her closed eyes, feeling the soft hair at his fingertips. Finally, he settled down next to her and let sleep take him as well. 

John never used his own bed after that.


	15. Chapter 15

Sherlock slept all of that day and night. She slept so rigidly, John checked her pulse several times to make sure she was stable. He remembered how he’d find her sprawled out over her bed (and the night they slept together, she was sprawled out all over /him/). There were a thousand health concerns he had for her, but he didn’t dare disturb her rest. She more than deserved it after her ordeal. 

Though John could spend the entire day watching Sherlock sleep, he knew he had other duties. He found Lawrence and went through the security procedures with him. Basically, they were to not leave the house without an escort and to remain on the property at all times. John was shown the weapons room which was quite well stocked. He noticed how comfortable Lawrence seemed around the artillery. 

“You’re not really a butler, are you?” he asked. 

Lawrence gave him a knowing look. “Of course I am, John. All of the most important people in the world need someone to clean up after them. Just some of us have a few more….particular skills.” 

So Mycroft had whole army of service workers/operatives at his disposal. That man was scary smart. “It’s good to have you on our side then.”  
“This isn’t the first time we’ve had to keep people both safe /and/ comfy.” He frowned, “Though I’ve never had to deal with a pregnant woman before—a Holmes no less...”

“Let’s hope it’s your last. Sherlock can be quite the handful.”

“We’ve been warned.” John couldn’t help but laugh at that. 

John returned upstairs to eat a light brunch made by Ms. Bennett (he took note of how well she handled the knives) and returned to Sherlock’s room to check up on her. Still asleep. 

He decided to use this as a chance to get familiar with the manor before she woke up. As soon as she did, he knew he wouldn’t be leaving her side anytime soon. John explored their floor, which included another bedroom besides the one prepared for him and a study. He entered the study first and looked through the various books on the shelf behind the desk. The shelf itself took up the entire space of the wall and was filled with mostly scientific texts. Picking up a copy of Grey’s Anatomy, he looked through the illustrations of the human body. The human body was such a wonderful thing; so strong and yet so fragile at the same time.

The next door down was a bit further than John had expected. It led to another bedroom. He couldn’t enter it though once he saw what was inside. He could only stand in the doorway and stare at beautiful cherry wood crib placed under the window. Stars hung from the mobile above it and the walls had the zodiac constellations wrapping around the entire room. Everything a child would need was already ready—if they chose to keep it. Hamish. John closed the door and went upstairs to the check out the library. 

John spent the next few hours reading in one of the large armchairs in the library. By now, he should be used to the quiet. Barely anyone made a sound back at Mycroft’s estate. Sometimes he would be kept up by the silence, missing the sound of violin at three in the morning. At that time of night, Sherlock would only play soft, soothing melodies. At first he had complained, but soon it just became something to expect. He never mentioned it to her, but it would help him after waking up from his nightmares. Now there was just silence. 

When evening was creeping onto the estate, John went into the kitchen to find Ms. Bennett preparing soup for dinner. He grabbed a tray and put two bowls of soup, a few pieces of bread, and water before heading back upstairs to Sherlock’s room. As much as he hated it, he had to get her up for the moment just to get some food in her. The way she had reacted to the IV in her arm after fainting wasn’t something he wanted to see again. She had almost been manic. 

Sherlock grumbled slightly but ate her food without a fuss. John explained some of the security measures Lawrence had told him and some of the volumes he had found in the library that might interest her. 

“I’m going outside tomorrow,” she said quietly looking out the window.

John nodded, “The gardens look beautiful right now. I wouldn’t mind checking them out as well. It’d be nice to get you some fresh air. You could never get that in London.” He chuckled warm heartedly, but Sherlock didn’t even crack a smile. It was worth a shot.

The next day they were escorted by Mr. Crowley onto the grounds. Before they left, John had a talk with Crowley, asking him to keep his distance. They didn’t want to make Sherlock feel anymore caged in that she did now. Fortunately, John’s worries were put to rest. Mr. Crowley almost disappeared entirely once they were out the door and walking down the garden path. 

There weren’t as many a variety of flowers as John had imagined. There were violets and daisies, tulips and snap dragons all arranged beautifully in one section of the garden. Another section was full of herbs and John wondered if Ms. Bennett used them in her cooking. The smell of lavender and thyme filled the air. Sherlock absently picked a few sprigs of lavender and tucked them in her coat pocket before continuing on. 

Neither of them talked as they explored the gardens. They would need to talk later of course—That talk. But John wanted to give Sherlock time to adjust to her new surroundings. He wanted her to feel safe. The silence coming from her wasn’t normal. Usually when Sherlock chose not to speak it was because her mind was working too fast to even bother with language. She was thinking, working. John remembered seeing some of his army mates like this when he was in recovery. They simply just stared blankly out the window for hours on end. 

It was a dead silence. 

Behind the manor, they found a Japanese sand garden set up. John saw Sherlock frown before suddenly grabbing the rake off of the side and clearing up the designs in the sand. It must not have been right. He sat down on a bench near a stone lion and watched her work. Using the one tool, Sherlock began drawing out intricate patterns and shapes. It was far more complex than what was there before and John could swear he saw a few chemistry and math symbols thrown into the work. It took over an hour for her to finish the entire piece. When Sherlock was done, she turned to John and waited for his opinion. Her eyes seemed a bit clearer now than they had been the day before. Finally, she had something for her mind to work on. She had time to think.

“It’s…nice,” John said, walking over to inspect it. He really didn’t know how else to describe it. 

“I’ve been waiting you know.”

“For what?” he asked.

Sherlock sighed, “You want to talk about it. My decision. There are over a dozen possible reasons why you’d object to me actually carrying the child to term but I’m not certain which one it is. That’s why I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up.”

“I just wanted to give you time to think about.”

“I’ve had more than enough time to think about it, John. I was imprisoned for several months. It was all I had.”

That sent a shot of guilt straight through him. “Right. Sorry.” John took her hand and walked back over to the bench. He took a moment to organize his thoughts. 

“I need to know the reason for why you want to have this child, Sherlock,” he finally said, “I won’t…let it be used as a pawn in this war between Moriarty and you. His life is going to be in danger constantly and once this is over…what then? I just need to know that you want him for the right reasons.”

“And what would be the right reason, John?” Sherlock asked, looking him in the eyes, “I’m not nearly as heartless as you think.”

“I didn’t mean it like that I just meant—“

“That I’m the worst person suited to be a mother,” she interrupted him, “I know. My habits and lifestyle are unsuited to bring up children and yet…” Sherlock paused, “I once did thought about having a child when I was one myself.”

Now that surprised him. His theory on Sherlock’s childhood involved her running around the woods collecting bugs and animal carcasses to study. Not dream about being a /mother/. He wondered if she had a baby doll that she had played with; taking it with her as she explored the natural world.

“Yes. I did have some normalcy in my childhood,” she said as if she was reading her mind, “Though my reasons for wanting a child might have been a bit….rebellious. I didn’t exactly appreciate the way my mother was raising me at the time and I thought that if I had a child of my own in the future, I could do a better job. I’d actually help my daughter skin the neighbor’s dead cat so she could study its muscle structure instead of binning the carcass. But when I got older and began developing my habits, I realized that such a thing wouldn’t be right. It would be irresponsible of me.”

John laughed. “Actually, that’s quite normal. Everyone thinks they can do a better job at parenting than their own parents.” He took a deep breath and continued, “So…you want this child? You want Hamish because you want to raise and love him.”

“I can most certainly try and raise him properly,” Sherlock looked out towards the garden, “If it was just me, I would simply get rid of it but I have you. You’re more than a capable father and I have a support system in the guise of Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. Hell, even Mycroft would make sure that all of Hamish’s needs were met. When it comes to showing the affection I’d feel for the child…”

“If Hamish is anything like you, I think he’ll be able to see it.” John said softly, taking her hand. “You can’t hide anything from a Holmes.” He smiled, knowing she’d see what he had left unsaid.

She nodded, “Let’s go inside.” Together, they walked back to the manor. Though it didn’t seem that Sherlock was aware of it, she hadn’t let go of John’s hand. When they were back inside, they went to the library to find those books John had told her about. 

John pulled down a book on the mathematics of bee colonies and handed it to Sherlock.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Right as John was about to answer her, she kissed him. This had not been the kind of heated kiss they first shared. It was tender and gentle. It was a promise of something more. 

But not now.

Sherlock took the book and headed out to find a window to read by. John was left behind, feeling a wonderful ache in his chest.


	16. Chapter 16

Every day, Sherlock spent most of her time outside. John would sometimes accompany her and other times he would give her time alone. Even if Sherlock considered the countryside as a hateful place, being kept inside a basement cell for several months would make even the most closeted person crave the sunlight and fresh air. 

Much time was spent in the Japanese rock garden. The designs in the sand changed daily. Sherlock would vary around complex geometrical patterns and mathematical equations or sometimes even try to make anatomical diagrams in the sand. After the first week of this, both John and Sherlock noticed that her previous designs were gone and replaced by another’s. It would either compliment or challenge her work. John suspected that this was Mr. Crowley’s doing. The man had a gift of being able to appear and disappear at will. John nicknamed him ‘The Ninja’. 

When the novelty of the gardens wore off, Sherlock began exploring the woodlands, collecting mushrooms and herbs that weren’t part of the garden variety. John had to make her promise she’d stay away from any experiments involving chemicals, sharp objects, or strenuous activities. If he had known that this would mean that Sherlock would adopt a mother hedgehog and her young to study inside the manor, John would have included no wild animals as well. 

 

It seemed that Sherlock was beginning to come back to her old self. It was even welcoming to hear the woman bickering with Ms. Bennett about what kinds of food to eat would be best for the baby. Ms. Bennett had a degree in nutrition and wouldn’t let Sherlock mess with her recipes. 

“There’s not nearly enough carrots in this stew, Bennett.”

“Yes there is. Shut up and eat it, Ms. Holmes.” Sherlock sulked, finished her stew, and then went to study her hedgehogs.

John liked Ms. Bennett very much. 

 

When Sherlock was eighteen weeks along, she began to play the violin again. Mycroft had it sent to her to help keep her occupied. She would play Mozart and Bach and Vivaldi and an array of composers that John wasn’t able to identify. 

“Hamish should be able to hear this now,” she said while playing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, “I want to start stimulating his neural development and also give him a good taste in music.”

“Then we should start playing The Beatles around the house now,” John said, earning a glare from Sherlock. He laughed and later asked Lawrence for a copy of the White Album.

 

After two weeks of being on the Manor’s property, Sherlock was beginning to go mad again. John and the house staff’s company was not enough for her. She needed to be around /people/ and building and businesses. The life of the city to keep her mind from going stagnate! It wasn’t much later when she finally demanded to accompany Ms. Bennett to the village to do that week’s shopping. Sherlock made it very clear that if she /they/ didn’t take her, she’d find a way to get there herself. Not even the threat of Moriarty’s spies were going to stop her from being around civilization. 

“I’m coming with you then,” John said as he got dressed for the day. He put on a blue grey jumper, dark jeans, and a brown leather jacket for their trip to the village. “I know you. Lizzy won’t be able to get any shopping done if she has to babysit you all day.”

“Lizzy?”

“Ms. Bennett,” John sighed, tying his shoes before kneeling down to help with Sherlock’s. 

“I won’t do anything reckless, John.”

“And I’m going to make sure of that. For all of our sakes.” 

Mr. Crowley also joined them on the trip to the village. He sat in the back of the car whit John. Sherlock rode in the front passenger seat and tried not to annoy Ms. Bennett too much. It was a twenty minute drive through country back roads until they crossed a highway and entered the small French village. Tourist season was at its height and no one took a second look at the strangers. 

Ms. Bennett parked and grabbed her shopping bags while Sherlock and John headed down the street in the opposite direction. Mr. Crowley made himself scarce but was never too far from the couple. 

Lawrence had provided both John and Sherlock with cards to pay for anything they would like to buy at the shops while they were out. The village catered towards tourists with handcrafted goods and fresh, organic produce from the local farms. Sherlock bought several jars of honey for another experiment (“It’s just a taste test, John”), John found an imported lager that he wanted to try (“No, Sherlock. You are not getting the hedgehogs drunk”), and both of them bought several books at a shop dealing in rare and collectible volumes (“Victor will be furious that I found a copy of the Countess Bathory’s ledger. He’s been looking for it for years.”) Finally, the two of them ate lunch outside a small café. 

While picking at her sandwich, Sherlock studied the crowd silently. This was what she needed: people. Their lives were right there for her to deconstruct, to learn their secrets just by the way they walked, dressed, and interacted with one another. Sherlock had missed this and spent over an hour just watching them all past by her table. A man going to see his mistress; he carried a small gift, most likely a necklace, in his coat pocket. A university student was meeting up with a study group but obviously had something else in mind by the flirtatious shade of lipstick she wore. When a young man entered the seen and the girl turned her entire body towards him, Sherlock smirked. 

Sherlock’s attention then turned to another young man leaving a shop with something tucked under his cargo jacket. A shoplifter.

“John,” she said, “get me a cranberry juice. I think I saw them near the register in the café.” By the time John returned to their table, Sherlock was gone.   
He cursed and looked around, looking for a mad pregnant woman who was in /so much fucking trouble right now/. 

Sherlock followed the shoplifter down one street after another, keeping her distance but never losing him from her sight. The man was obviously a native, using the tourist season to mask his crimes. If something went missing from a local shop, they’d blame the tourists and count it as a loss. She remembered seeing the man several times before. The man probably had a small nest where he keeps his stolen goods. It would be a simple thing to find out where it was, call in an anonymous tip, and be back home before dinner.   
Right as Sherlock was about to turn the corner to follow the shoplifter down an alleyway, she felt someone firmly take hold of her shoulder.

“That’s not a wise thing to do, Ms. Holmes,” Mr. Crowley said, “I’ve already contacted John and told him our location. I doubt he’ll be very happy that you just ran off like that.” His voice was calm, but stern. Sherlock pulled away and turned her back to him, resting against a wall. Behind her, she could hear someone running towards them. John.

“Are you out of your bloody mind, Sherlock!” John was breathing hard by the time he caught up. “What were you even doing?”

“I spotted a shoplifter. He probably has a nest and I was going to report—“ She stopped herself. The whole thing was ridiculous. What was she thinking? “Let’s just go,” she growled, ashamed at herself.

“Sherlock, you can’t do this anymore. You can’t just run off after thieves and think everything is going to be okay. You’re with child!” 

“I know!” she hissed, pushing herself off the wall and started walking back the way they came. “I know I have to hide away and not draw attention to myself. It’s just…” Sherlock knew even if she wasn’t hiding from Jim, she would have done something like this. “I won’t do it again, John.” She quickened her pace, trying to avoid any more of this stupid argument. John was right after all.

Ms. Bennett was waiting for them by the car, their bags already in the back. It was obvious she had gotten wind of the situation and said nothing as everyone filed into the car. Sherlock fixed her gaze out the window the entire way back. 

 

How could she have done something so stupid!? Sure, it was just a shoplifter but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. The one thing John had learn chasing down criminals with Sherlock was that even simple people could become desperate when cornered. And desperate could easily turn to dangerous. Even if the criminal didn’t lash out, Sherlock had put herself in a position that could have gotten her exposed. She was drawing too much attention to herself.

The only reason John hadn’t pressed further on the subject was because Sherlock knew it too. She knew she had almost compromised herself and put Hamish in danger. For the next three days, Sherlock didn’t even leave the house. She fed the hedgehogs some of the honey she had bought, taking notes on the ones they preferred and read in the library but aside from that, she did nothing. It was like a child knowing they had done wrong and was trying to be extra good so their mother won’t be disappointed in them. Except Sherlock was not one to apologize. 

On the fourth night after the incident, John heard Sherlock playing the violin again. It was a sad, mournful melody that caused John put his book down and seek her out. She wasn’t in the study, the sound came from the room beyond. The nursery. When he opened the door, Sherlock stopped playing and set her violin down on the shelf. The room was dark and John could only see her silhouette against the moonlight.

“My life is no longer my own, is it?” she said quietly. 

“I’m sorry, but it isn’t,” John said, coming up behind her to wrap an arm around her waist. He gently placed his hand over Sherlock’s belly. “You have to give up a lot when you have to care for someone else. That’s just how it works. You can’t be selfish.”

“But I am a selfish person. I’ve always been like that.”

“You’re going to have to compromise a bit.”

Sherlock sighed and turned around to face John. “How much did you give up when you starting caring for me?”

He smirked, “Besides my social life and sanity? Not much.” That got a small laugh from Sherlock. Then her expression became serious once more. 

“I’m trying to figure out what I’ve given up for you.” 

“More than I ever expected from you, Sherlock,” he took her hand, “and I’m so grateful for it.”

She was silent for some time, just watching John’s expression carefully. Her mind cataloging every detail and trying to figure out what it all means.

“John?”

“Yes?”

“I want you to take me to bed.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Sherlock….we don’t have to rush things. You need more time to heal and—“

“I know what I need, John,” Sherlock leaned forward and kissed him. When she pulled back, John saw a spark of the old Sherlock. “If I didn’t want you to have sex with me, I wouldn’t have asked.” When was he was going to learn?

John huffed a laugh, “Right. I forgot.” He pulled her close, their bodies flushed and their lips barely touching. Sherlock could feel his breath, warm against her skin. “Do you trust me?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

He took her hand and led her back to their bedroom. Having her stand at the edge of the bed, John took his time to undress her slowly. “If this gets to be too much, tell me to stop. I’ll understand.” 

Sherlock felt each layer of clothing fall from her small frame to pool at her feet. John’s hands caressed her flesh, the touch warm and reassuring. He saw her for who she was; the detective, the mad scientist, the human, and the woman. Every part of her was accepted, loved, cherished. He took her for who she was, nothing less, nothing more. 

“Lay back,” John told her as he began to strip as well. There was no rush to this after all, but he wanted to just see her there on the bed like before. Tonight would be different though. He climbed on the bed and lay behind her. “Close your eyes,” he whispered and Sherlock obeyed.

John pulled her back into his arms until their bodies were flushed, back to chest. “I want you to focus on me, Sherlock. Nothing else. I am right here and I won’t let you go until you ask me to.” His hands ran down her sides slowly to her thighs and then back up to her belly. He avoided her breasts and sex for now. Right now, he just wanted her to get used to his touch. 

Sherlock shuddered as she felt John’s lips trail from her shoulders up to her neck. He was being so intimate, it was almost painful. Her chest ached and her body tensed. John felt the tension in her muscles and began to pull back. “No,” Sherlock breathed, grabbing his hand, “Please….” She took his hand and brought it to her chest. When she felt his calloused hands smooth over her breasts, she sighed. John’s thumb flicked over her nipples and she moaned. She had grown sensitive over the months, her breasts larger now.

Finally, John reached down to caress her sex. He wet his fingers in his mouth and stroked the labia before teasing her clit. He worked her up slowly until Sherlock was rutting back against him, his erection nestled in the cleft of her arse. “John…” she moaned. 

With one arm, he lifted her leg and positioned himself, his cock just at her entrance. He pushed into her slowly with a low groan and stopped when he was fully inside her. 

This was John, Sherlock reminded herself. It was John who was touching her and John who was inside her, waiting for her to give permission to move within her. He would give her what she needed. She was in control.

Sherlock rocked back into him, moaning, and they began to move. John held her tightly with each thrust, his chest always in contact with her back. His other hand rubbed her clitoris to intensify the pleasure of each thrust. Soft moans and ragged breath filled the room. Their bodies began to shine with sweat. 

Time had altogether stopped for Sherlock. She couldn’t tell how long they were like this, feeling the pleasure slowly build up until she came with a shuddering gasp. John groaned, his voice heavy as he followed her soon after. He slid out of her once they came down from their orgasms, but didn’t let her go. 

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing the soft skin behind her ear, “I love you, you mad, brilliant woman…”

Sherlock felt her throat tighten and she reached behind him to take his hand. “I know.”

They fell asleep, neither of them letting go.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't stop myself from adding in this crossover. I'll probably write another fic just for it later. Because...reasons.

Sherlock and John slept in late into the morning. When they woke up, they made love again before heading downstairs for breakfast. That’s where they found Anthea waiting for them in the dining room. 

“Hello, Sherlock. Hello, John.” Anthea gave them a smug smile as Lizzie served them breakfast. John sighed. Of course the entire manor knew what the two of them had been having sex. 

“I assume you have that report I requested weeks ago,” Sherlock said before shoveling a forkful of eggs into her mouth. Today she was starving. 

“We thought it would be a good idea to give you some time to rest,” her smile turned into a full on smirk, “When word came of your little escapade in the village, it was obvious we gave you /too/ much rest.” Sherlock returned her smirk with one of her own.

Anthea pulled out several paper files and a laptop to give to Sherlock. “This is everything we have on Moriarty as of now, including what we could fine at the house you were imprisoned in.”

“Which was burned down,” Sherlock murmured, already perusing through the pages. “I doubt you found much.”

“And that’s where you come in,” she said, “Your brother has been busy keeping Moriarty from knowing your exact location. We set up decoy safe houses all over Europe and as far as China. He’s already found one and burned that place to the ground as well.”

Moriarty will burn down all of Europe just to find her, John thought. The sick bastard was obsessed with Sherlock. John looked over at Sherlock in hopes of getting a read on her emotions. Her face was cool and calculating. For a moment, it almost looked like she was going to treat this as any other case and distant herself from any emotions she might be feeling. Then she spoke.

“When I find him, I want to kill him myself.” 

John wasn’t the only one openly surprised at what she had just said. Anthea’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a small ‘O’. 

“It isn’t as simple as that,” she said, quickly composing herself once more, “Moriarty has an extensive empire of contacts and clients. Simply killing him won’t—“

“You act like if I care about that. I don’t.” Sherlock put down the file and leaned forward. She spoke slowly, as if she was talking to a child, “I want to make this very, very clear to you. I don’t work for the government or MI6. If I find him first, he’s as good as dead. Do you understand?”

Anthea was quiet for a moment before giving Sherlock a curt nod. “I understand and I don’t blame you. But you need our resources just as much as we need your skills. In the end though, this isn’t simply revenge on our part.”

“No, it’s an /opportunity/,” John interjected, “Is Mycroft really trying to use Sherlock as bait to catch Moriarty?”

“Of course not, only—“

“Only his loyalties are not just to family,” Sherlock said, “and he has to make everyone happy.” She picked up her fork again to finish her breakfast. “The best strategy is to distract him. Right now he’s focused on finding me, thus leaving his other enterprises open. We burn away the edges of his web until we reach the center. That way, his empire is dismantled which takes away his worth to the government and I can watch him die a slow, painful death.”

She spoke with the same, distant monotone voice she uses for her deductions. John put a hand at the small of her back. He was here to support her. If Sherlock wanted to kill Moriarty, he wasn’t going to stop her. Not like he could, anyways. John remembered a few of his army mates who had been discharged before him. They could help. He would call them up once Sherlock had a lead or two. His mates would be to go out and do what was needed while they remained here for the baby’s birth. 

Anthea was smart enough to not say anything more. The Holmes were a stubborn bunch and it was obvious Sherlock meant what she said. “Then I’ll leave so you can get to work. Lawrence will keep us informed on your progress.” Getting up, she left them at the kitchen table to their now cold breakfasts. 

Sherlock made sure she finished her meal and told Lizzie to bring up tea later to the study on the second floor. Then she took the laptop and files up with her to start working. John helped her clear off the desk and walls for her to place the file papers up on. A map of Europe was also put up, showing all known sightings of Jim, including their scene at the pool. From Scotland to China to America, the man appeared and disappeared in a blink of an eye. Sometimes for years. It would not be easy tracking him down. 

“Where to start,” John murmured, looking up at the map. It was mostly to himself than Sherlock. He left her to her own musings. If she had something to say, she’d say it.

“With building up an army,” she answered, starting up the laptop and pulling up an internet browser, “We’ll need all the help we can get.”

“I have army mates that will help.”

“We’ll need more than that,” Sherlock said, “This is a war of information. Our soldiers need to be experts in the field of intelligence.” 

John frowned, “Who do you have in mind? Not everyone is like you.” 

Sherlock looked up at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “I know some people that can prove useful. They might even find the idea a bit fun.” As long as she kept out the bit about killing the bastard; they seemed to stay away from violence. She was typing away on the keyboard and John walked around to see what she was doing. The window she had brought up looked like nothing he had seen before. It was mostly just numbers and texts. Then a door asking for a password and with a few more clicks and numbers, Sherlock opened it. A virtual woman came out to greet them. John frowned. What was this site?

It had been some time since Sherlock had entered the Hacker’s Republic. Technically, she wasn’t a citizen of the virtual world. She more or less stumbled upon it while finding out who had breached government firewalls as a favor for Mycroft. The hacker in question was actually quite good at hiding his trail. In the end, she found Trinity and the Republic but didn’t turn him in. They were harmless and only wanted to /know/. Because she didn’t rat him out, Trinity gave her special permission to enter the Republic if she ever needed help. He even taught her a few hacking secrets to add to her list of skills. But through Trinity it was where she found someone even more interesting. 

A hacker named Wasp had been the first to notice that Sherlock had broken into the Republic and then proceeded to hack into Sherlock’s own computer. The hacker had done it so well that Sherlock hadn’t even noticed the breach of security until she received a very strange email. After decrypting it, she saw that Wasp had gone through her cases and noticed something that Sherlock didn’t. Sherlock kicked herself for not seeing that small discrepancy in victim’s bank account information. Within the week, she had solved the case. 

The next thing Sherlock did was to track down Wasp. She wanted to repay the Swedish hacker for her assistance with the case. One flight out of the country and she found the woman well off in a flat in the center of Stockholm. The look on the young woman’s face had been worth it. 

The woman was named Lisbeth Salander and the two of them became quick friends. If friends meant that the two were able to comfortably share a room in silence while working on cases. Salander worked for a security company and used her hacking skills for other ventures. It kept her busy. She let Sherlock stay at her flat for a few weeks in which Sherlock also used her skills to help small woman out on a few cases. It was quite refreshing and Sherlock had enjoyed the company. In the end they even had sex a few times. Sherlock would never say they were lovers, just friends who didn’t mind pleasuring each other when the mood struck them. Then she returned to London though occasionally, Wasp would check in with her. 

Now Sherlock needed Wasp’s help once again. She was the only one in the Republic she trusted with this sensitive matter. After all, the two women could relate now. 

[Batman]: Wasp I need your help

[Wasp]: You disappeared

[Batman]: I know. I was kidnapped. 

[Wasp]: Was it that bastard again? 

[Batman]: Yes. His obsession was more than simply intellectual.

……

[Wasp]: Tell me what you need.

[Batman]: I’m sending you a file now. I need you to track down his accounts and other locations.

[Wasp]: Consider it done. I can come down and help you beat that disgusting pig as well.

[Batman]: Can’t. I’m under government protection. You can’t get involved.

[Batman]: I’m also pregnant.  
……..

[Wasp]: Blondie’s? 

[Batman]: Fortunately, yes. And yes, I’m keeping it.

[Wasp]: Good luck. I can’t really see you with a kid though.

[Batman]: No one can. The idea is unheard of.

[Wasp]: I’ll get working on it now. Talk to you later.

Sherlock logged out and noticed John had been reading over her shoulder the entire time.

“You’ve talked about me to this…Wasp?” John looked down at her and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Obviously.”

He smirked, “At least we know even insane detectives aren’t above gossiping.” 

“Shut up,” Sherlock said and then got to work.


	19. Chapter 19

James Moriarty was a phantom, a shadow in London’s underground criminal network. Only the most important people knew his name and those who called upon him to fix their problems never knew exactly who they were going to for help. 

But that did not mean he was untraceable. 

Sherlock worked for hours on end, tracking every lead she could fine. The only time she ever stopped was when John told her to take a break. Maybe before she could work until she had exhausted herself but now she had another’s wellbeing to look after. John would have her sit down on the sofa and eat a biscuit as she rested her mind and body. Sherlock never complained because she did feel tired. It was like the baby was draining her of her usual energy levels. And it would worse the closer they got to the due date.   
A week and a half after Sherlock’s communication from Salander, she received an encrypted email detailing the whereabouts and documentation of what appeared to be one of Moriarty’s accountants. If they could get information from the man, they could start poking holes in Moriarty’s web. Sherlock gave John the information and had him contact his mates to pay the accountant a visit. 

 

Jonathan Perth was writing up his latest report in his rather small by stylish office in Bath. His client seemed to be spending a bit more money than usual and he had to go through each figure carefully to make sure the accounts wouldn’t be traced to the source. It could get tricky sometimes, but his client paid him very handsomely. 

It was just about nightfall when Jonathan began packing up to leave for the day. He shut down his computer and was just about to lock it up in his desk when the door slammed open. Three men in black masks rushed in and held the accountant up at gunpoint. Jonathan was ashamed to admit it, but he literally pissed his pants. 

While pleading for his life, the men blindfolded Jonathan and tied him up. One man was left behind to grab the computer and files left out on the man’s desk. In less than three minutes after the attack, a dark van rolled away into the night. 

 

Two days later, Salander received a package with a small laptop inside. She started up and within a half hour, had complete access to all of Perth’s files relating to a certain James Moriarty. The files were then sent to a message board where an anonymous server downloaded them. Now Sherlock had access to a few of Moriarty’s accounts.

She began to burn away at his web. Through the accounts, Sherlock was able to find where Jim had made contact with some of his clients. What they wanted from him, where they were, how Jim ‘fixed’ it for them. All the information was sent to Mycroft so he could bring in the criminals. Once word got out that Moriarty’s clients were being arrested, Jim would begin to lose his power. 

Sherlock then took all of the money in Jim’s accounts and sent them to charities world-wide that dealt with rape victims and orphaned children. Each donation was nearly a million pounds each. Now Jim would know who was doing all of this; who was fighting back. 

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” John said, putting a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. She had been in front of the computer for over six hours straight without a break. “He’s going to be pissed.” The idea made John smile. 

“Salander is going through a few more files she found on Perth’s computer that might lead us to more accounts. We should get them tomorrow.” Sherlock stretched her arms over her head and yawned. This system they had worked out was slow but careful. Nothing should be tracked back to Sherlock’s computer. Jim won’t be finding them anytime soon. 

Slowly, she got up from her chair. Her belly was becoming more and more noticeable. It was annoying. Sherlock was halfway out the door before she gasped and put a hand out to the bookshelf to support her, the other going to her stomach.

Immediately, John was at her side. “What’s wrong?” he asked quickly, “Are you feeling any pain?”

“Yes I’m in pain,” Sherlock snapped. “Hamish just kicked me in the kidney!”

John laughed. Thank goodness. “He’s getting more active every day. I bet he must be getting bored,” he teased. He placed a hand over her stomach to feel the child’s movements.

Sherlock gave him a dirty look. “It still doesn’t give him permission to play football in my uterus.” She groaned again as Hamish got another good kick to her kidney. 

They went downstairs to eat dinner and afterwards, Sherlock checked on the hedgehogs. The runt of the litter had taken a habit of climbing up Sherlock’s arm to rest on her shoulder. Usually, she tried to discourage such actions but today she allowed it. The little hedgehog accompanied her to the parlor where she laid down with a book. The creature then moved to rest on her stomach. Hamish kicked again, causing the hedgehog to jump slightly. The two babies were playing together.

“Stop that,” Sherlock murmured but did nothing. 

 

Less than a week later, a safe house in Brussels was attacked. Mycroft’s men came too late to find its inhabitants dead, their blood painted upon the wall in an intricate work of art. It was nearly an exact copy of The Rape of Persephone by Bernini. Except Persephone’s face closely resembled Sherlock’s. The woman’s tongue had been cut out. 

Mycroft informed Sherlock and John about the attack but did not mention the blood painting on the wall. 

That night, Sherlock performed Death and the Maiden by Schubert. The eerie music drifted through the manor and gave John chills down his spine. He took Sherlock to bed and held her close, his hands over her belly.


	20. Chapter 20

A blanket of snow covered the manor grounds. Christmas was close at hand but no one was feeling the ‘holiday spirit’. John doubt Sherlock even cared. She was absolutely absorbed in her work. The last couple weeks, Sherlock had found more of Moriarty’s clients and associates than she had ever hoped for. Mycroft’s men were sent to destroy each thread, closing in tighter on Jim himself. Soon, there would be nowhere for him to run. 

That would make the bastard desperate, John thought. He knew there were things that Mycroft wasn’t telling them when he sent in the reports. Security on the grounds became even tighter and John couldn’t even explore the manor in peace without feeling a presence watching over him. It was starting to get to the good doctor. He knew there wasn’t much he could do at this point. Sherlock was right; it was a war of information, of the two greatest minds in the world. All John could do was spend more time in the armory to work on his aim. Lawrence even came in to spar with him in hand to hand combat. John was a bit rusty, but he was glad for the training. Even if the war would be fought with hackers and espionage, it would have to be won with a bullet to Jim’s head. 

“John, hold up will you,” Lawrence called out after they finished another sparring session. 

John wiped the sweat from his brow, “What is it?”

“Come here,” Lawrence walked over to where they kept some of their weapons, mainly explosives. “She’s clever. We didn’t even notice what was missing until yesterday. Who knows when she snuck in here? I’ve never even seen her down here. Have you?”

“I’ll talk to her,” John said, sighing, “It’s too much of a risk for her to be playing with explosives.” At least, he hoped it was for an experiment. Then again, Sherlock should know better than now. What was she planning?

After getting cleaned up, John went in search for Sherlock. She wasn’t in the study, which was strange. For weeks that would be the only place to find her. John checked the bedroom and bath, the library, the parlor, the kitchen. She wasn’t there. 

“Sherlock?” he called out, more annoyed than worried. They were safe here. For now. Where had that mad woman run off to?

“In here, John,” he heard her call out. Following the voice, John found her in the nursery. 

“What are you—“he stopped. Looking around, he saw that most of the furniture had been rearranged. The cradle was now on the wall opposite the door and the small bookshelf had been moved underneath the window leaving the far wall empty. 

“I did a bit of rearranging,” Sherlock explained, resting against the bookshelf, “What do you think?” Her expression though said she didn’t care. This was how the room would be set up now and John had no say.

“I think you should have let me move the furniture around, Sherlock. You shouldn’t strain yourself.”

Sherlock rolled her eyes, “All I do is sit around on my arse all day. The least I could do is get a bit of light exercise. This stuff isn’t even heavy.” 

John crossed his arms over his chest. “Why did you move things around? Also, while we’re on the subject, what have you done with the explosive materials? They better not be in our bedroom.” 

“They aren’t in the bedroom,” she said, her expression darkening somewhat, “and you don’t need to worry about that. I won’t be blowing anything up anytime soon.” 

As if John was going to believe her. “What’s going on?” he asked firmly, “We need to be on the same page here. I can’t protect you if you’re hiding things like this from me.” 

Sherlock didn’t answer him. John noticed her hand going to her belly. He doubt even she knew she was doing it. 

“I’m fine, John,” she said, “I need you to trust me.” And with that, she left the room, heading back to the study to work. This conversation was over.

 

When Christmas came, there was no tree, no decoration, no family or friends. John made cider for the two of them and sat Sherlock down in front of the fire in the parlor. They drank in silence. John’s hand absently traced circles over Sherlock’s belly, feeling the baby move. Just a few more weeks and he could hold his son for the first time. The thought brought him equal parts joy and terror. How was he to protect the two most important people in his life right now? 

“John, I can here you thinking,” Sherlock said quietly, “Stop it. It’s distracting.” In reality, she was thinking the exact same thing. 

“And what are you thinking about?” he asked.

“How my vagina could possibly stretch enough to give birth to a seven pound baby and the pain involved in such a process.” The lie would suffice. After all, the thought had crossed her mind once or twice before.

John snorted a little bit and didn’t comment. He simply sipped at his cider and watched as Sherlock got up to play her violin. 

 

A safe house in America was reduced to ash. Around the charred bodies of those inside, someone had placed a pristine package, beautiful wrapped up in black and red. Inside was a small teddy bear with a red string wrapped around its neck. It was the only thing keeping the bear’s head connected to its body.


	21. Chapter 21

“If Hamish doesn’t get out of my uterus soon I’m going to scream,” Sherlock groaned as she held onto her belly. The child had been getting more and more active during the New Year. To make it more bearable, Sherlock began recording when Hamish was most active in accordance to what she was doing. He responded best whenever she was playing the violin or working with the hedgehogs. Also when John played his Beatles songs on the stereo, but there was no way in hell she was going to admit that. 

“One more week, Sherlock,” John said, looking up from his book, “Think of it like a belated birthday present.” 

Sherlock frowned. “If he wanted to give me a happy surprise, he’ll get out of me now.” She finished her breakfast and headed back up to the study. Her body ached and sleep came and went at all hours. It was miserable and the only consolation was it would be over soon. 

Booting up the laptop in the study, Sherlock sat down logged into the Hacker’s Republic to message Wasp.

[Batman]: Two weeks.

[Wasp]: Are you sure you want to do this? It might be too risky.

[Batman]: He’ll find me anyways. This way, we can expect him. 

[Wasp]: Fine. But one more thing,

[Batman]: What?

[Wasp]: Be careful. 

Sherlock heard John coming down the hallway and logged out. 

Lisbeth Salander pursed her lips as Batman left the chat room. This was going to be tricky. It was already apparent that Moriarty had noticed someone was hacking into his files. Salander was having more and more trouble getting through his firewalls. She had to admit it, but this bastard had some skills. 

He was also trying to track her down. When she told Sherlock this, she didn’t hear from her for three days. Then out of the blue, Salander got a file detailing the next phase of the plan. She didn’t like it one bit. It wasn’t because she was putting her own neck on the line; she owed Sherlock that. No, it was because she was going to have to let this bastard hack into her own computer which will eventually lead him to Sherlock’s location. 

Not only that, but Salander had to make it look like it wasn’t a total set up. Great. 

Salander began going over the files in her computer, erasing old cases and any personal information that would lead back to her. Everything was backed up on another hard drive anyways. She left a few things laying around just in case though to make it less suspicious. 

Now for the tricky part.

She pulled up Asphyxia and went into Perth’s files to begin hacking. Perth had made the mistake of leaving a trail to other accounts and that was her opening. Usually she had focused on intelligence gathering. Now, Salander needed to get noticed. 

There had been a few files that Salander had avoided due to the fact there was a program installed that would alert Moriarty’s people if anyone tried to hack in. She had been working on getting around it but now it was exactly what she needed. Clicking on the file, she began trying to hack in and thus, giving herself away. 

It didn’t take long for someone to contact her.

[Anonymous]: My, my, you must be the little bird that’s helping out my Sherlock.

[Wasp]: And you’re the fucking creep that raped her.

[Anonymous]: Did she really tell you that? You two must be quite close then.

[Wasp]: I put the pieces together.

[Anonymous]: Ms. Salander, don’t play dumb with me. I’ve seen you with her. I even have a recording of a few of your…experiences with her. You two were quite good together.

[Wasp]: Pervert.

Salander bit her lip. That had been years ago, before Sherlock even met that Watson guy. So this creep must have been stalking Sherlock far longer than she had originally thought. 

[Wasp]: Why haven’t you come after me before? You know who I am.

[Anonymous]: Simple. I needed to get into your computer. You’ve given me exactly what I need.

The computer screen flashed before her. This bastard wasn’t even trying to be subtle about hacking into her own computer. Salander made a show of trying to stop him from getting into her files and even deleted a few. But she needed him to think he’s won. 

She waited a few more minutes before finally getting up and grabbing a golf club she had kept in her closet. Fuck, she really liked this computer. Swinging it above her head, Salander slammed the club over the computer. The screen cracked and broke off the hinges. Another swing and she broke into the hard drive. One more and it was a piece of rubble. 

That bastard should now have enough information to track Sherlock down.

Salander’s phone buzzed with a text.

Thank you. :) - JMxx

“Shit!” She grabbed her knapsack and booked the hell out of her flat. If he knew who she was, he knew where she was. He got what he wanted and now she was only a liability. Salander headed for the garage where her Kawasaki was parked. She already made arrangements to get out of the country. Halfway down the stairs to the parking garage and her way was blocked by a large, blond man. 

“Well aren’t you a doll,” Moran said with a small grin, “Don’t worry. My orders aren’t to kill you. Not yet anyways. First I get to—“He didn’t even have time to finish his sentence as Salander ran at him. She swung her knapsack up, hitting him in the face. Catching him off guard was her only way of getting out of there in one piece. Once getting by him, she slid down the staircase banister to the final level. 

Already Moran was back up and running after her. Salander could hear his footsteps behind her, catching up. He pulled out his gun. She hid behind a concrete column and dug into her bag. As the large form of the sniper came into view, she jumped at him again. Moran fired his weapon.

The shot rang in Salander’s ear and glass shattered behind her. He missed. She was faster than she looked. With her left hand, she slammed her fist into his face. Moran grabbed her wrist and twisted it sharply. Salander cried out in pain as the bones made an audible crack.

“You like that bitch!” Moran snarled, pulling her closer to strike at her once more. He wanted to snap this chick’s neck!

In Salander’s other hand was her taser. She used this opportunity to slam the electrified end into his gut. Several hundred volts ran through Moran’s body, reducing him to a trembling heap on the ground. Salander kicked him away from her and grabbed at her wrist, hissing in pain. Getting up as quickly as she could, she looked around the empty parking garage. There was no way she could drive her Kawasaki with a broken wrist. 

There weren’t many cars left in the garage. Most of the inhabitants were out working still. However, a few meters away to the left, a small indiscreet black Honda had been left parked near her Kawasaki. Perfect. Salander ran over to the car and broke the window with the blunt end of her taser. It took her nearly a minute to start the damn thing. When she looked back up, Moran was already up and running towards her. 

She put the car in reverse and slammed her foot on the accelerator. The black Honda was heading straight towards Moran. At the last second, the man jumped out of the way and Salander put the car into forward gear to get the hell out of there. Another gunshot rang out, the bullet hitting the seat next to her. Salander ducked her head and quickly raced out onto the street.

Moran watched as his target got away from him and cursed. He couldn’t believe that little bitch got the best of him! He pulled out his phone and called in the car to his team. Maybe they could track it and….At least Jim got what he needed. Sherlock was the priority here. Moran hoped that Jim would be too focused on tracking her down to punish him for this damn mess.

He ran his thumb over the scar across the bridge of his nose. When Jim was done with Sherlock, Moran planned on paying that bitch back for the humiliation she caused him. He was going to make her /scream/.


	22. Chapter 22

Sherlock nearly dropped her violin when she felt the first contractions. She carefully put her violin back onto its stand and put a hand on her belly. Hamish wasn’t due for another five days. They were probably Braxton Hicks contractions, false contractions; nothing to worry about. Sherlock ignored them and went about her day. 

Then they came back, stronger this time. As much as she wanted this baby out, Sherlock didn’t want to make herself out to be some nervous first time (and only) mother who cried childbirth after every false contraction. She would simply wait this out and continue with her work.

Salander had sent in her report stating that Moriarty had been watching her from the start. Sherlock let out a soft sigh of relief for her friend. That had been too close. Lisbeth didn’t deserve to be caught up in her mess like that. Sherlock would ask for her help no longer. 

If things worked out the way she hoped, she wouldn’t need to. 

An hour later and Sherlock got another set of contractions. They were strong enough to elicit a groan from her. Getting up from her desk, she made her way downstairs. John was most likely in the basement practicing his fire arms. That meant two flights of stairs she would have to climb down, then climb back up. Instead, Sherlock simply went to the bedroom to lie down. 

Two hours later and John entered their room, freshly changed and shower from his sparring match with Lawrence. 

“Tired?” he asked, a smirk spreading across his face, “You look ready to pop.”

“Because I am,” she muttered, “We’re having this baby today.”

John’s jaw dropped for a moment before he quickly composed himself. “How long have you known?” 

“Since after breakfast.”

He groaned, “Honestly, you didn’t think to tell me that /giving birth to our child now!/” Taking another deep breath, he continued, “Right. I’ll get Lawrence to send for the doctor and nurses. The other bedroom will probably be a better place to set up and…..”

Oh god, he was going to be a father! 

“No rush. I still have probably another nine hours of this shit.” And Sherlock was not looking forward to it. Maybe they could just cut it out now? She bit her lip. She looked calmer than she felt at the moment.

Oh god, she was going to be a mother!

Sherlock was moved to the other bedroom and an hour later, a team of nurses and a doctor specializing in at home childbirths arrived. Mycroft wasn’t going to take any choices.   
“I don’t see why you can’t simply help me give birth,” Sherlock complained to John as her legs were spread for the whole medical team to examine. It reminded her too much of her time in Jim’s cell. “You’re the father /and/ a doctor.”

“I’ll be right here,” he said, “and someone has to hold your hand while you push Hamish out. If he’s anything like you, he’ll be stubborn and try to come out feet first and run straight out for his first adventure.” It was meant as a jest.

Sherlock was not amused.

 

In London, Mycroft Holmes received word that his sister was finally giving birth.

“I want arrangements made to have them relocated by the end of the week,” he said over the phone to Lawrence, “And have you found where she’s placed the explosives? I told you to keep a close eye on her at all times.”

“We found several bombs along the perimeter of the property, Sir.”

Mycroft sighed. How could she be so foolish? 

“Leave them just in case we’ll need them,” he ordered, “But they are to be relocated as soon as possible. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

 

“Ah!” Sherlock cried out. She took a deep breath through her nose and out her mouth. The contractions were getting worse now and closer together. “Get him out already!”

“You’re not ready to push yet, Sherlock. Be patient!” That had been the third time she said that in the last hour. It was beginning to annoy John. 

“Hamish wasn’t! You were off by five days, John!”

"I know!"

 

Jim Moriarty worked tirelessly away in front of his computer. The files he got from the hacker, Wasp, was more than enough to track down his Sherlock. By now she’d be ready to give birth. Perfect. He couldn’t wait to see the horror on her face as he gutted the brat right in front of her. 

Then they could start on /their/ family. In the last few months, the idea had planted itself in his mind and blossomed into something beautiful. Why take their child away from its mother? He could keep both of them by his side. Sherlock could make great contributions to his empire and she would have no choice but to obey. And who knows? Maybe after a while, she would come to /love/ it. All Jim had to do was get rid of that teensy little bit of humanity left in her. John Watson, that pesky doctor, would have to die as well. And the oh the fun he and Sherlock could have!

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than ever before. He was so close to having her back. Sherlock belonged to /him/! 

 

“Alright, Sherlock, /now/ you can push!” 

Sherlock gritted her teeth, groaning loudly as she felt the crown of the baby’s head at the entrance to her vagina. She pushed and she could feel him moving, out and away from her. A few moments later, she could hear him crying. 

“Again!”

She pushed again her voice crying out with his as Hamish entered this horrid world. Sweat covered her brow and Sherlock felt a cool hand wipe it away. “Well done, love,” John whispered close to her ear. “He’s beautiful.” 

A few minutes later and a small, tightly wrapped bundle was brought to Sherlock. Hamish Watson Holmes looked up at his mother with bright blue eyes. 

“Well aren’t you as pink and wrinkly as a hairless rat,” Sherlock murmured, her voice tired but with no hint of malice. He was perfect. She felt John wrap an arm around her and place a kiss to her damp hair. 

This was their son and no one was going to take him away from them.


	23. Chapter 23

John left Sherlock to sleep alone in their room. She had been pumped full of painkillers and would probably sleep twelve hours straight. Hamish was sleeping peacefully in the nursery as John kept watch by the crib’s side. The rocking chair he sat in was just comfortable enough for him to doze off for a few hours until the morning light broke over the horizon. 

A gentle knock at the door and Lawrence stepped in with a mug of coffee for the new father. He handed the mug to John and then quietly went over to look at the sleeping baby. 

“Well isn’t he gorgeous?” he whispered, a smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” John said, “and most likely going to be a pain in the arse when he grows up. Just like his mum.” 

“Have you already been thinking about what schools to send him to? I remember my parents saying that they had discussed while I was still in the womb. Then again, I didn’t exactly go to Eaton like they wanted me to. I had plans of my own.”

John huffed out a tired laugh. “As if we’ve had the time to think about that. I’m sure Mycroft has already planned it all out anyways.” He noticed Lawrence’s expression darken slightly in the dim light. “What did he say?”

“We are to relocate you and Sherlock as soon as possible now that Sherlock’s given birth.”

John tensed, “And Hamish, right?” Mycroft couldn’t be thinking of separating them so soon! The idea had crossed his mind once or twice as well but…He couldn’t stand not knowing if Hamish was safe. Their lives were shadowed by Moriarty but that didn’t mean they had to be apart from each other. “I’m not leaving my son.” 

“Then Sherlock will be relocated alone. It’s too risky to have her near the child in the current situation and—“ 

“The situation be damned!” John said, his voice escalating into almost a shout. He stopped himself and looked over at Hamish. The child slept, though a small frown crossed his features. “I’m not leaving them,” he continued, lowering his voice.

“John, Sherlock planted explosives all around the perimeter of the property. Now why do you think she’d do that if the place was already safely hidden away and secure?”

John’s heart sank to his stomach. She really was planning on using Hamish as bait. Bring Moriarty here for a final showdown. And yet, maybe she had a point. “Running away isn’t going to solve the problem. We don’t even know if she’s already given away our location. Let me talk to her.”

Lawrence sighed. “I have my orders,” he said, “but I do agree with you at least for most of it. It’s in the child’s best interest, though, if he was removed from here before Moriarty strikes. Think on that awhile, John.” Then the man was gone, leaving the father to watch over his son. 

When Sherlock awoke, she felt like she had been split in too and then sewn back up again—which in a way, was exactly what happened. She tried to sit up and gave up on the endeavor when a wave a pain shot up her spine. Instead, she sunk back down into the bed and let her body rest some more. Now that Hamish was out of her womb, she’d be able to run around more freely. She was going to need that to her advantage. 

A ragged looking doctor Watson entered with a breakfast tray. “Afternoon,” he said, placing the tray across her lap, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” she replied, “Where’s Hamish?”

“I thought I’d let you eat something first before bringing him in. Last I checked, he was sleeping peacefully.” 

“I’m not hungry. I want to see him.” 

John decided to compromise. “I’ll go get him while you start on breakfast. You can hold him when you’re done.” He went off to fetch their son in the nursery. Hamish was finally awake and looking up at the ceiling with wide, curious eyes.

“Hey there, little guy,” John crooned, “First day in the big world. It must be very exciting.” He gently picked him up and carried him back to the bedroom. 

Sherlock was picking at the oatmeal before her when she saw John with Hamish. She put down her spoon and motioned for John to bring him to her. 

“Eat,” he said, taking a seat by her side.

“John….” 

“You need your strength.” 

Sherlock pouted but quickly downed her oatmeal. That must have been the fastest he’s ever seen her eat a meal, he thought. When she finished, John handed her Hamish and took the tray away from her. 

John watched as Sherlock look over her son and her son looked up at her. They both had nearly the same, wide eyed, curious expression on their faces. Such a strange, new creature they gazed upon and yet they were part of each other for nearly nine months. It truly was a beautiful site.

Sherlock was both a mother and a child at that moment. “John,” she asked in a small voice, “What do I do?” For not the first time, she was second guessing herself.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but we’ll figure it out.”

Now was not the time to discuss the matter at hand with Sherlock. John silently watched on as Sherlock played with Hamish. Her fingers tickled at the baby’s feet and belly. She mimicked different facial expressions and even hummed various tunes to him to see how he reacted. When Hamish began to cry, Sherlock brought him to her breast to feed.   
“This is more difficult than I had first thought,” she muttered, as she guided Hamish to her nipple. Finally, he seemed to have latched on and began to drink. 

“You’ll get used to it,” John murmured. At least, he hoped she had the chance. 

“Sherlock….I need to know what you’ve been doing. Have you given up our location to Moriarty?” 

The muscles in Sherlock’s neck tensed and she held Hamish more firmly to her breast. She looked up at John. “I did what I thought was necessary. This needs to end.” 

“You’re using Hamish as—“

“I’m using myself as bait, John!” she interjected, “Trust me when I say Hamish will not be harmed.”

John frowned, “So you’re giving him up to Mycroft then? Splitting up our new family while you risk being kidnapped and tortured by that bastard again?” It took a lot of his will to not raise his voice.

Sherlock shook her head. “I’m not doing that either. If I send Hamish away, Jim might go after him instead.” She didn’t want to wake up one morning to find the corpse of her child at her doorstep and Jim’s hands around her neck. 

“Tell me what the plan is then,” John said, “Now.”

And she did.

 

In a dark room, Jim laughed gleefully at the screen of his laptop. Oh, the sleepless nights were worth this. He had her now. “Sebby,” he called out, “Back your bags. We’re going to France!”


	24. Chapter 24

Every room was now armed and secured. John and Sherlock knew where each firearm was hidden and several escape paths to take. There was no use in hiding away now. When Sherlock told John that she had already gave away their location….Now all they had to do was wait.

“He’ll probably come sooner than I had originally planned,” Sherlock said, cleaning the pistol they were hiding beneath their bed. “If he had been watching Salander, he probably has a good idea of how her systems work. That will make it easier for him to break through her files.” 

“Where is she now?”

“In hiding until this is over.” One way or another. 

John nodded silently. He owed this hacker for her help. Hopefully it wasn’t in vain. 

Sherlock reached across the table for the earpiece Lawrence had given everyone in the household. They were to stay in contact at all times. “Status report. Any signs that he’s here?”

“Negative,” a voice said over the air waves. It was Mr. Crawly. 

She frowned. “Stay focused. Don’t underestimate him. He’s cleverer than the lot of you put together.” Sherlock tossed her earpiece aside and went to the window. She was getting restless. “I’m going to check on Hamish.” Then she was gone, heading upstairs to the nursery. 

John sighed and ran a hand over his face. They had been on high alert for three days now. As much as he wasn’t looking forward to the fight ahead of them, waiting like this was even worse. It needed to end, and soon. 

Sherlock held Hamish to her breasts as she looked out the window. The snow covered ground was spotless, a blanket of pure white over the grounds. Things could never stay so perfect. It soon grew dark and Sherlock put her child to bed. She played the violin as the boy drifted off to sleep and then quietly crept back down to the kitchen with John.

“What were you playing up there?” John asked. He could hear the music drifting down the stairs. It was so beautiful, stirring up such strong emotions in his chest—pain, sadness, hope, and a rising joy towards the end.

Sherlock shrugged, “Just something I was making up as I went along.” She was hardly paying attention, her mind drifting elsewhere.   
John reached out and squeezed her shoulder gently. “You should probably write it—“

An explosion rang out into the night. 

It came from the west end of the property, the woods in flames. Soon following after, another explosion from the east, the north, and the south. Then came the gunfire. 

“Get Hamish,” John told Sherlock, taking out his gun and clicking off the safety. He grabbed the earpiece on the table. “Status report. What’s going on out there?”

The voice on the other end was barely audible over the sound of gunshots. “….perimeter breach…..south end heading for….get them out!” Then the connection was lost.

Sherlock was already gone. 

John looked out the window of the kitchen, towards the south end of the property. A large vehicle was already rolling up to the door. It wasn’t one of theirs. 

Lizzie soon appeared by John’s side. “I’ll cover you here. You head to the main hallway. We can’t let them get to the nursery.” John nodded and ran out of the kitchen. He could already see Lawrence making his way towards the front end of the manor, his gun ready. 

A window shattered in front of John’s path. In the moonlight, he spotted the all too familiar silhouette of a grenade. John immediately ran for cover. 

The explosion caused the earth beneath him to shake. Soon after, another explosion came from the front of the manor, then another from the kitchen. Lizzie….He didn’t have time to go back.

John took cover near the stairs leading to the second floor. The gunfire was getting closer. Footsteps came down the hall behind him. He quickly glanced out into the hallway and was greeted by three shots, hitting the painting behind him.

“Hello, Johnny boy!” Jim’s voice rang out, “Let me guess. Mummy’s upstairs? Why don’t you and Tiger stay down here and have a bit of fun while I go up and chat with her? I bet she’s just dying to see me.” 

From John’s hiding spot, he could see a dark figure running up the stairs. He fired his weapon but missed. Suddenly, a large body hit him from the side and tackled him to the ground. Moran straddled John, his fist coming down on John’s face. 

 

As soon as Sherlock made it to the second floor, the upper floor windows shattered as gunfire assaulted the manor house. She crouched low, beneath the window as she hurried towards the nursery. Hamish’s loud cries echoed in the hallway. Sherlock made it to the hallway and took her child from his crib. Another explosion nearly knocked her to the ground. It must have come from the first floor hallway. 

She didn’t have much time.

 

John could taste blood in his mouth as Moran assaulted him mercilessly. He could hardly protect himself, the man’s weight holding him to the ground. 

Then the fists disappeared and John saw a glint of steel. He grabbed Moran’s wrist as the knife came down towards his right shoulder, stopping the blade from sinking in. John got his knee in between them and pushed Moran away before scrambling back up to face him. From his side, he pulled out his own knife. So this was how it was going to be. Moran lunged forward, ready to attack.

 

“Oh Sherlock, darling!” Jim called out down the hallway, “Where are you, my dear?” He was so close now! The child’s cries bringing him to the nursery.

Jim opened the door and stepped inside. The crib was right there before him. “You’ve almost made it too easy,” he said. His knife was already in his hand. It was thirsting for blood. 

“You will not touch him,” Sherlock growled, stepping out from a dark corner. The pistol she carried glinted in the moonlight. She walked towards him, her eyes cold and sharp. There was no fear; only a burning hatred for the man. 

“I can do whatever I wish, darling.” A wicked grin pulled at Jim’s lips as he turned to face Sherlock. “I’ve won. There’s nowhere for you to run anymore.” He lunged at her, pushing her against the wall. Sherlock pulled the trigger, the gunfire ringing in her ears. Jim hissed, feeling his arm flame up in pain. She had merely grazed him though.

Jim laughed, “You’re so weak, Sherlock. Don’t you see? Your pathetic love for your doctor and this little brat has made you so.” He pushed his body flushed against her and whispered into her ear, “But don’t worry. I’m going to fix that. Right now as we speak, my tiger is cutting up dear ol’ Johnny boy. Then all you’ll have is me! You have so much potential. You could be so /beautiful/. All that’s need to be done is cut away the sickness that is your emotions.” 

Sherlock could practically feel his words climbing into her mind, trying to take control. He was a poison, a devil. 

“I’ll tear those pretty little wings off you, my angel. And then we’ll be the same.” Jim grabbed her and threw her against the bookcase in front of the window. “Now be a good girl and stay there as I kill baby Hamish.” He picked up Sherlock’s gun and walked over to the crib.

Sherlock’s head was spinning as she used the bookcase to pull herself up. She watched as Jim reached into the crib to pull away the blanket. She watched as his eyes widened at the bundle of C4 wrapped up beneath it.

“You once said you would burn me, Jim,” Sherlock said, pulling out the triggering device, “Let’s burn together.” 

The world around them erupted into flames.


	25. Chapter 25

There was a burning pain as John felt Moran’s knife sink into his side. He gasped and pushed him away, the knife falling to the floor. John fell back against the wall for support, his hand going to try and stop the bleeding.

Moran laughed, “Poor Johnny Boy. The brat’s probably already dead. Jim and I are going to have so much fun with pretty little Sherlock now.” He pulled out another knife and moved in for the kill.

Then another explosion brought the world around them crashing down. John watched as the ceiling crumbled above Moran and fell. One moment, the man was standing and the next he was crushed under a sea of rubble. A trickle of blood began to make its way through the debris.

“Sherlock,” John breathed as he pushed himself away from the wall and made his way up the stairs. He prayed she and the baby were alright. What did she do?  
When John saw the black smoke coming from the nursery, his heart sank. 

No. God no…

The first thing he saw was the bloodied and charred remains of Jim Moriarty. The retched smell of charred flesh filled the room.   
“Sherlock!” he called out, looking around. There was no sign of her. 

John then heard the distant cry of a baby. Hamish! It came from the wall to the left, where the bookshelf had originally been when they first arrived. The wallpaper had been burned away to reveal a steel wall. It was the wall to a panic room. Sherlock had hidden Hamish inside!

He ran his hands along the wall, trying to find the handle to the door. A keypad was at the other end, still in working use. It demanded a password.

“Shit!” What would the password be? What would Sherlock put down? John leaned his forehead against the wall and looked down. Then he laughed. Scratched into the hard wood floor was 221B. Of course.

John punched in the password and the door opened, the sound of Hamish’s crying louder now. He rushed inside and grabbed the child that had been placed on a small cot. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured, holding Hamish close, “Daddy’s here. You’re safe now.” John looked around the small room. Emergency supplies were on the wall and a radio on the table. But there was no Sherlock. Hamish didn’t stop crying. 

“Sherlock!” John cried out, “Sherlock!” 

He rushed back into the nursery but couldn’t find another body. The horrible feeling of dread rushed through his body. Sherlock couldn’t be…

“John! Out here!” a voice cried outside what was once the window. The glass had been blown out during the explosion. John looked out to see the outline of Crawly kneeling beside a dark form laying on the ground. Blood seeped into the white snow around Sherlock’s body.

The world spun around him and John stepped back, clutching Hamish close to him. “Oh god, please no. Please, don’t let her be….” He stopped himself and rushed out of the room. 

Lawrence joined at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you alright? Where’s Sherlock?” John didn’t answer him. He put Hamish into the man’s arms and ran off. As he turned the corner, Lawrence as the blood dripping onto the floor from John’s wound. He followed after him, calling in the emergency medical team. 

When John made it outside, he saw that Crawly had removed his jacket and pressed it against Sherlock’s back. Everything seemed to slow down as he ran to them. He couldn’t seem to get there fast enough. 

John fell to his knees next to Sherlock and pressed his fingers to her neck. He couldn’t feel a pulse. He could hear his own heart thundering in his chest.   
/Open your eyes, Sherlock. Don’t you dare be dead!/

Vaguely, he felt someone grab him by the shoulder, trying to pull him away. The voices around him were distant to his ears. John’s vision began to darken before him and he fell back into the bloody snow. His last thoughts were that Hamish was going to be left without a mother or a father. 

His son would never get to see his mad mother, the detective, and his father, the one who ran by her side through the streets of London.

 

God, that beeping noise was annoying, John thought as he began to come back to consciousness. Then he realized it was the heart monitor. He was in a hospital bed. He was alive. 

It took a bit of effort for John to finally open his eyes. He took a deep breath and then choked. A tube had been shoved down his throat to bring him oxygen. Not waiting for a nurse to walk by and get the damn thing out, John reached up and pulled it out himself.

“It’s good to see you among the living, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft’s voice came from John’s left. He turned his head to see the man sitting in chair beside his bed. In his arms was baby Hamish. 

John tried to sit up before a flash of pain erupted in his side. Right, he had been stabbed. He laid back down and took a deep breath. “Sherlock….”

“Is alive.”

She was alive? John could hardly believe it. Her broken body in the snow, all that blood…

“Just barely,” Mycroft said softly, “Her back has been badly burnt, three ribs are broken, and she was severely concussed. It’s a miracle she survived at all. My sister seems to be quite stubborn and won’t even let Death have its way with her.”

“When can I see her?” John asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. 

“Not until you are at least fully healed. The doctors don’t want anyone near her due to the high risk of infection. It might be some time before I can allow you to see her.” Anthea entered the room right then and Mycroft handed off Hamish to her. “Don’t worry. Hamish will be well cared for until his parents are fit enough to take him back. He’ll be staying with me for the time being.”

John would have laughed if it wouldn’t hurt so much. “I can’t really see you changing diapers, Mycroft.”

Mycroft’s expression became slightly amused. “Of course not,” he said, “I’ve employed a nanny. One who has had much experience in taking care of children from the Holmes Estate.”

“/Your/ Nanny?” Which would mean that she was also Sherlock’s nanny. “Now I have got to meet her. Maybe she could give me a few pointers on dealing with you lot.”  
Mycroft’s expression soured. “You should rest now, John. Sherlock wouldn’t be pleased if you aren’t back to full health by the time she awakes.” He stood up, dusted off his suit, and left. Anthea began to follow after him.

“Wait,” John called out to stop her, “Bring him here.” 

Anthea obeyed and brought little Hamish to his father. John grasped the child’s small hand. 

“You be good now,” he murmured, “Your mum and I will come get you as soon as possible. You’re safe...” Then they were gone. 

John laid back and closed his eyes. They truly were safe. Things were going to be alright.

 

Sherlock knew that she was alive. Though her vision of hell involved being stuck in a damn hospital for all of eternity, she knew this was not so. Jim wasn’t here after all.  
She kept drifting in and out of consciousness. The same with her pain levels. Her body must have been pumped so full of drugs, she could hardly even open her eyes. When Sherlock did manage to do so, she’d see the same nurse but in different patterned scrubs. This was how she was able to count the days of her recovery. On her tenth outfit, Sherlock finally had enough strength to make a motion at the nurse. She couldn’t speak due to a damn tube shoved down her throat, but at least she could show that she was conscious. 

The nurse gave her a small smile and then called in the doctor. Sherlock was examined and asked a few questions that she could answer with a simple blink once for yes, blink twice for no. It had been two weeks since the attack.

“Would you like to see Mr. Watson?” the doctor asked. 

Sherlock blinked once.

He left and a half hour later, John was sitting by her side. Sherlock noticed that he was putting most of his weight on his left side. He had an injury of his own, freshly healed. Most likely a stab wound.

“Hamish is at Mycroft’s place being watched by your old nanny, Olivia.” John tried to hide a grin when he saw Sherlock’s eyes widen a bit. “Did you really call her Olive as a child? I never thought you one for giving people pet names.”

She rolled her eyes and blinked once, a light flush going over her cheeks. John laughed and ran a hand through her hair. Well…what was left of it. Most of it was burned off in the explosion. It was almost as short as John’s now. 

John was silent for a while, just looking over Sherlock. She wouldn’t be fully healed for another two months, and after that, she would still have the scars to deal with.

“He’s dead,” he finally said, “Jim is dead. I saw the body myself.”

Sherlock closed her eyes and opened them again. 

/Good/. 

“You didn’t tell me about the bomb though; the one in the nursery,” there was an edge to his voice, “We were supposed to be on the same page.” John couldn’t believe she had nearly killed herself to stop Jim. It didn’t have to be like that. “What were you thinking?”

Even if Sherlock could answer him, she wouldn’t. She had been prepared to die that day, if it meant keeping John and Hamish safe. It would have been a fitting end…

“Do that again and I’ll kill you myself, do you understand?” John tugged at her hair gently, “You are not leaving me alone with this baby. You’re going to be a mother and you’re going to /like/ it.” 

Sherlock made a small noise, almost like a laugh. 

She blinked once.


	26. Epilogue

“Who the bloody hell brings a baby to a crime scene?” Donovan watched as Sherlock entered the scene with a baby in her arms. /Her/ baby. Donovan honestly couldn’t believe someone let that mad woman be a mother.

“Sherlock, obviously,” Lestrade whispered as the detective came forward to greet them.

“Lestrade. Donovan.” Sherlock said before suddenly handing Hamish over to Donovan. “Hold him for me. Thank you.” Then she turned and went to examine the body, leaving her son in the hands of a very pissed off officer. Hamish squirmed in the woman’s arms.

“Please tell me I can call special services, sir,” Donovan said, “This can’t be right.”

Lestrade sighed. It was still strange to see Sherlock as a mother. The last six months since the woman’s return had been well…strange. He never got the full story but he was sure now that Moriarty was dead and it was because of her. That bastard deserved it. 

It took a bit longer than usual for Sherlock to find her lead, but she did. She called Lestrade over, rattled off a few facts, and then walked off. Somewhere in London was a murderer and Sherlock was dead set on finding him.

“Oi!” Donovan called out, “Forget something, did you?” But Sherlock was already around the corner. 

“I can’t believe she just left her child here!” she said incredulously. 

Lestrade felt his phone buzz in his pocket from a text. 

Take Hamish back to Baker St. Mrs. Hudson is expecting him. Killer most likely found before dinner. –SH

He couldn’t help but laugh. At least Sherlock was /trying/ to be responsible. In a way, it was the smartest thing to do. She couldn’t run after a killer with a baby in her arms after all. 

Another text.

And do NOT hand Hamish over to Anderson. He might drop him.-SH

 

Actually, it took a bit longer for Sherlock to catch the killer. She didn’t make it back home until nearly midnight. John was waiting for her in the sitting room. 

“You were supposed to pick Hamish up, drop him off here, and /then/ go to the crime scene,” John said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not hand him over to the police to be babysat while you went after a murder.”

“I had to give them something to do,” Sherlock took off her coat and hung it up, “and there wasn’t enough time. The man was trying to flee the country!”

John raised an eyebrow, “You couldn’t have possibly have known that before you arrived at the crime scene.” 

Sherlock gave a short shrug but then immediately regretted it. She reached out to rub at her shoulder. It still hurt from time to time. 

John was at her side in a second. “Go sit down and take off your shirt. I’ll get the ointment.” He went to the bathroom while Sherlock sat down on the sofa. John had to kick away a few bath toys as he grabbed a tube out of the medicine cabinet. By the time he returned, Sherlock had already removed both her shirt and her bra. 

On Sherlock’s back was an ugly burn that traveled from her shoulders to her lower back. Even after two skin grafts, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Sometimes she had dreams about that night. It was hell, the fire consuming both her and Jim. She still had no idea how she survived. 

John poured a liberal amount of a thick, white ointment onto his hands and then began rubbing it into Sherlock’s back. Her body tensed as the cold ointment touched her skin, but then eventually relaxed. It helped with the pain. Her nerves had been severely damaged and would never be the same. 

He leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck. “Mrs. Hudson is keeping Hamish overnight. She didn’t know if you were going to have me run off after you all night.”

Sherlock smirked, “How kind of her.”

“You mean necessary,” John corrected her.

“The system works.”

“You need to stop handing over our son to the police.” 

“Not going to happen,” she said, “The look on Donovan’s face is priceless.”

John laughed and wiped off his hands with a towel. “Come to bed, Sherlock.”

 

John woke up the next morning with Sherlock sleeping naked by his side. The morning light peeked through the curtains and illuminated Sherlock’s body. A halo surrounded her dark curls and her pale skin glowed. She was beautiful. 

Sherlock sighed softly in her sleep and rolled onto her stomach, away from the light. The scars on her back almost looked like wings in that moment. She was a fallen angel, her wings made of hellfire. A creature full of so much darkness but also, of intense love for those she found worthy. 

John pulled her closer to him and sighed happily. 

Hamish would come out alright. After all, he had a mad detective for a mother and a soldier who ran after her each night as a father. Things would work out fine.

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of an RP prompt that I've used a few times. I'd like to send my love out to those I RPed with, including mycroft-poppins and lifeisshort-youarehot from Tumblr who inspired much of this plot.


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